


Ten Steps To Heaven

by Basmathgirl



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Christmas means ghost stories here, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Memory Loss, Post-Episode: s04e17-e18 The End of Time, Regeneration (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basmathgirl/pseuds/Basmathgirl
Summary: After the events of the End of Time, Donna finds a badly injured man and then takes him home to nurse. Yet John Smith seems a little hesitant to let her help as his true situation dawns on them. Life is not quite as he knew it.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Donna Noble
Comments: 102
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Serenitys_Lady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenitys_Lady/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** this fic owns me, rather than the other way around, since it rarely stops bombarding me  
>  **A/N:** posted today in order to wish Serenitys_Lady a very happy birthday, and you all a wonderful Christmas.

The tenth incarnation of the Doctor watched the coming regeneration fires creep across his skin with much trepidation. He didn’t want to go, truly he didn’t, but as he’d informed Wilf earlier, soon a brand-new man would saunter off in his place and he would become merely a memory. 

In that split second, he thought of Donna and Protocol One. Oh no. He hadn’t had a chance to change the setting, he realised in a panic. “Please don’t return to her,” he begged the TARDIS as he fought the rising tide. 

But seconds later he had been replaced, the room was ablaze, and the TARDIS made her own decision. 

As a rule, Donna Noble wasn’t frightened by much, and what she actually was frightened of could be covered with a bluff exterior. It normally worked. The only thing it didn’t work with was the uneasy feeling her mother caused.

Now most people thought Sylvia Noble was a loving caring person, which for the most part was true. She did care. A little too much. Enough to turn her into a Victorian bitch when her concerns weren’t met or dealt with sufficiently. For her daughter Donna it had meant spending most of her life avoiding lectures and put downs under the guise of caring. It had become a coping mechanism in perfection. 

It also made things seem extremely odd when Sylvia suddenly ditched all the sniping and caustic remarks during a moment in time that corresponded with a near fatal accident which had left Donna without a wodge of her memories. Two whole years’ worth, to be precise. 

All that sudden sweetness and affection had continued to get on Donna’s nerves, and she craved to escape this new emotional prison as soon as possible. But how? Whatever she had been doing in the years leading up to her accident had depleted her bank account. Okay, she might have been having the time of her life, but none of that left her with anything. Not even a filled photo album as a memento. Yet a change in circumstances needed funds; or divine intervention if not extremely good luck, and everyone knew that Donna was never lucky with anything. 

Didn’t her recent break up with Shaun prove that? Things had been going well between them, they’d booked a wedding, even found a small affordable flat to live together, and then Christmas Day had happened. Obviously, her body had been keen to outdo the bout of migraines she kept having, because it had 'gifted" her a faint. Yes, she’d actually passed out. 

This would need careful thought, she realised. 

“But Donna!” Sylvia Noble loudly complained when she’d got home from work that Friday night. “How could you do this?”

“Very easily,” Donna retorted, readying herself for the impending fight. “Just watch me and read my lips. I am not going.”

“You can’t not show up. It’s Amy’s wedding tomorrow,” Sylvia whined. “It would be disrespectful to Tabatha’s memory if you didn’t at least come and see her daughter get married.”

“Yes, I liked Tabatha when she was alive. She was a great cousin and all that, but don’t you see?” Donna tried to reason. “Amy is half my age and getting married whereas I’m just this maiden aunt who can’t keep any man long enough to actually go through with it. And every nosy bitch there will ask me why.” She took a deep breath in to steady her nerves and stop the tears that wanted to surge down her cheeks. “I can’t face them asking yet again why I’m such a failure.”

“You aren’t a failure,” Sylvia snapped back. “You proved that when… when…” Oh dear, she had almost said the unforbidden. 

“When what, Mum?” Donna sternly demanded. “Normally you have no problem in pointing out my faults, so let’s hear you say something nice for a change.” Okay, that wasn’t necessarily true since she’d had her head injury, but this was an ideal opportunity to find out her mother’s true feelings. 

“Oh. Don’t you start,” Sylvia dismissed instead. Her pout came out in full force. “Stay here on your own then. See if me and your grandfather care.”

“Thanks Mum. I knew you’d understand,” Donna huffed as she walked past her and aimed for the safety of the front door. Further beyond it was her grandfather’s sympathetic company. “Bring me back a bit of wedding cake, if you can.”

“You’ll regret it,” Sylvia called after her, but she didn’t genuinely think her daughter would regret missing the wedding of a younger family member. Especially someone who reminded her how much she was missing out on in life. “And make sure you bring the car back in time in the morning for us to use.”

That’s when it all began to change later that early January night, as the air started to seriously crisp up for winter, and the Valentine’s Day malarkey promised to appear. Donna Noble was sat on the hill with her beloved Gramps, idly watching the night sky whilst sipping coffee from a Thermos flask in order to keep warm. She huddled more into her coat, wondering if it was late enough to consider going home to her nice warm bed even though it hadn’t been dark for long. For some reason, since her accident, she no longer gained the joy and comfort from stargazing like she used to. At one time it had all endlessly fascinated her, but now the sight of the stars made her want to weep. Something was missing from her life. Not just her memories but something precious had gone. If only she knew what.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Wilf suddenly asked his granddaughter. He hated it when she went so quiet. 

She did her best to smile back at him, and then placed her plastic beaker down on the ground next to its matching Thermos flask. “I’m fine,” she insisted. 

“You still worrying about the split from Shaun?” he pondered. “I told you, he’ll soon come ‘round. You mark my words.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, wishing she could believe him. Was it even worth arguing the point? Shaun couldn’t cope with her funny turn at Christmas having this lasting effect on her. Apparently, she was increasingly cold with him and shut him out. Not that she believed that either for a second. To think that she had expected the stars to calm her anxious thoughts. “Sorry, Gramps, but I think I’ll head home and go to bed.”

Wilf nodded, slightly gesturing towards her with his nose. “Your head giving you jip again?”

“Just a bit,” she reluctantly admitted, and stood up. 

The rest of her answer was cut off as something caught their attention. A stream of items burning up as they entered the atmosphere along with a ball of flames that shot towards the horizon, miles and miles away.

“A meteor shower,” Wilf noted in awe. “I wonder where that big meteorite landed.”

“Looked as though it was trying to find the M25,” Donna replied. “Could be in a rush to get to the January sales at Brent Cross.”

“I reckon it might be as far out as Wembley,” he guessed, smiling at her joke.

“Nah. Come off it,” she scoffed. “All the way out there? Don’t think so.”

“You never know. Distances can be deceiving at night,” he countered, glad to see a glimpse of the old Donna again.

“Alright. I’ll go look it up online before going to bed. A fiver says it landed no further than Ealing.”

“You’re on.”

Keen to prove her point, Donna searched on the internet for any sighting of a fallen meteorite as soon as she reached her bedroom. However, her search was fruitless. No one had seen anything. Despite looking on numerous astronomical websites, nothing had been reported in the London area. Weird. 

Now intrigued, she printed off a map and drew on it the possible trajectory of the meteorite. By hook or by crook, she was going to find it. Come hell or high water. 

“Just picking up my thermos flask. ‘Ere! Where are you going?” Wilf hastily whispered when he came into the house and saw her snatching up the car keys, ready to go out somewhere.

“Might go meteorite hunting after I’ve picked the last of my bits from Shaun’s,” she answered. “See you later.”

“But… you can’t,” he spluttered. “It’s already almost ten o’clock at night and we’ll need the car in the morning.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have it back in plenty of time for you,” she dismissed his well-intended concerns. “Might treat myself to a lie in in the morning, if I get the chance before Mum spoils it.”

“Donna, it’s daft going out this late,” he argued. “Surely you can grab your stuff another time. And as for that meteorite, don’t let yourself be obsessed like this. Let someone else find it when they walk their dog later. You could still come with us tomorrow.”

“No, you don’t understand, Gramps,” she sighed. “I just can’t face a family wedding, knowing that it should have been me that was next. All I’ll get is the fact Amy is almost half my age continually thrown at me; I know what they’re like.”

“So what are you going to do?” 

“I’ll get this business with Shaun over and done with first, and I don’t why, but something tells me I need to see this meteorite. You don’t mind really, do you?”

Her distraught face almost broke his heart. “No, not really,” he admitted. “I’m just worried about you. Take care.”

“I will,” she readily vowed. “See you later.”

With that, she was gone, out into the night, leaving Wilf to worry about the sanity of his only granddaughter. 

For some reason, Donna decided to trust the little voice in her head that guided her away from the state of Shaun’s empty flat as she drove her mother’s Peugeot away. Naturally, he hadn’t been there to greet her. Typical, she thought. When she put a bloke off, she did it good and proper. Anyway, something was urging her to hurry home via the North Circular. With occasional glances towards the road signs along the way, she suddenly felt excited. Not far now, she told herself. 

Of course, the inner monologue supplied by her mother’s voice also berated her actions as she drove along. Why she had felt so compelled to find the meteorite was beyond her, she only knew that it had been vital that she did; and now it suddenly didn’t as the compulsion fizzled away. Logic said any falling object must have completely burnt up in the atmosphere, she concluded some minutes later, because there would be no physical trace left of the actual object except for a scorch mark in a field somewhere. No point in looking anymore.

Sighing, she turned the car off the main road to travel the short distance to her home. 

Returning home, in more ways than one, made her think of the argument with her mother again. Why couldn’t anyone understand how hard it was for her? Everywhere she looked these days there were women in happy relationships, clutching some person with love or cooing over children and babies. Those things should have been _hers_ by now. There’d been a church, a wedding dress and a celebration for goodness sake! 

Well, according to her mother, there had been. Not that she personally remembered any of it, thanks to that stupid accident. Or perhaps it was a blessing considering the groom had done a moonlight flit? 

Donna sighed again. She’d never know now. It was hard not to feel bitter about such a ‘lucky break’. At least nobody talked about it in front of her; although they wouldn’t be normal if they never mentioned it in private. Nevertheless, the shame had gamely attempted to wither away, leaving her with the yearning to feel any resemblance to being loved. 

“Perhaps I’ll ask for a fiancé for Christmas. Can’t see me getting one by Valentine’s Day,” she joked to nobody in particular as she gazed out of the windscreen and took in the darkened deserted streets. 

She turned into the last street that led up to where their corner-semi sat and contemplated having a nice cup of coffee when she got in. Then there was a sudden flash of light to the side of her, followed by a low rumble.

“Where’s the rain,” she idly wondered, just as a tall, dark figure appeared to her right.

It staggered dramatically out into the middle of the road, to stand awkwardly right in front of her.

“SHIT!” she shrieked and slammed on the brakes hard. 

All she got was the image of a pale man staring at her with wide eyes before dropping like a stone, onto the tarmac.


	2. Chapter 2

Donna gulped and peered out the windscreen. Had she hit him? Was he hurt? Did she need to call an ambulance? 

Well, she’d never know unless she looked. Grabbing her phone hastily out of her bag, she climbed out of the car to seek the answers. 

The man was crumpled in a dark heap on the road surface, unmoving and almost silent, dangerously close to her right front wheel. He was breathing, she realised as she watched his chest. Thank the lord, there was a chance to save him. As she bent nearer, a car came racing down the road from the opposite direction.

‘Oh no! They haven’t seen him,’ she suddenly thought, and stepped in front of him, waving her arms like crazy at the oncoming car. “Stop!”

The other driver screeched to a halt, mere centimetres away. They didn’t get out, as she’d expected, but slowly wound the car window down as though they were expecting an attack of some sort. “Why are you standing in the middle of the road? Get out of the way,” they yelled. 

“Are you mad?” Donna shouted back in despair. “Can’t you see there’s someone injured here? Seriously injured.” She pointed downwards with both arms.

The driver looked her up and down. “Don’t look that bad to me. Go home and sleep it off.” With that, they slightly backed their car up, threw out an insult, and drove around her, to disappear in the night.

They’d done what?! 

She was stunned at their callous actions. “Yes, and a very Happy New Year to you too,” she wanted to sarcastically call after them; but in light of the late hour decided not to. At least she’d managed to stop the injured bloke being run over. 

Then someone let out a low moan from under the front bumper of her car; grabbing her attention back.

The Doctor slowly opened his eyes and grinned up at the sight of a night sky full of stars. Ah! There was no finer sight, in his book. Except the experience would be better if he was not lying on something cold and hard, or the view wasn’t slightly obscured by houses and streetlights. So much light…

Lifting up onto his elbows, he was surprised to see he was lying on a tarmac surface by some rubber tyres. How had he got there? The last thing he remembered he’d been…. Something else. Yes, he’d definitely been somewhere different; with doors, and a floor. What sort of somewhere else completely eluded him though. It hadn’t been a building, but you could argue it was. 

He tried to roll his body to sit, with the intention of eventually standing up, but the pain caused him to moan loudly and sink back down the cold unwelcoming road. 

Why was this happening to him? Was this the normal post-regeneration amnesia? Would anyone come and answer his questions? Just as he considered calling out, a female voice came from fairly nearby. One he felt he should know as his thoughts turned to impending rescue, and he momentarily dipped into blackness again with a relieved sigh. 

He was safe. He’d be taken care of now. 

“Are you alright?” Donna aimed towards the figure. All she got in reply was another pained groan, so she called out, “Hang on, I’m coming. Won’t be a mo’.”

She raced to the back of the car in order to open the boot and search for the first aid box she generally carried, and a blanket just in case of emergencies. If someone was injured or taken ill, they would need the warmth, had been the argument for putting it in there.

Huddled up against the car was a man in what once had probably been a decent suit. It was hard to tell in the harsh car lights and her attention was more on the poor state of him. His clothing was shredded, and his face was cut up as though he’d been attacked by a wild animal. 

“Oh my God!” she cried and rushed to wrap the car blanket in her hands around his injured body. There was a smoky smell on his clothing that deeply worried her. “What happened to you? Who did this? Can you hear me? I’m Donna, by the way. You’re safe now. I’ll make sure you get some help.” 

A pair of dazed brown eyes looked at her in gratitude. “Help me up,” he whimpered. “It hurts.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get here? I mean, I saw you stagger out in front of me, but before that. Where did you come from?” she asked as she helped him to stand on wobbly legs. He was pretty determined to do so. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted in a rasping voice. 

It made her scowl with concern at this news. He could have been beaten up, abducted and abandoned by a bunch of thugs. “We need to call the police or at least get an ambulance to take you to hospital.” 

“No hospitals. No need to. Absolutely no need, I assure you,” he insisted as they progressed slowly along the front panel and onwards towards her passenger side car door. “Everyone needed has already been.” 

She frowned in confusion because she hadn’t seen another soul walking along the nearby roads apart from him and the abusive driver for at least half an hour if not more. “We’ll get you back into the warmth first and then decide what to do. But if you feel sick, let me know immediately,” she ordered as she gently lowered him onto her front passenger seat, “because that’d mean a definite trip to Casualty.” 

“Don’t want to go to hospital,” he murmured and then seemed to pass out. 

“Oh great,” she said out loud to herself. “Just what I need, you dying on me.”

“Won’t die on you. Promise,” came from somewhere up against the car door. “Just need to rest for a while.”

Relieved that he didn’t seem to be on death’s doorstep, she consoled herself with thinking he was merely dozing. “I’ll tell you what, we’ll get you home, cleaned you up, and then decide what to do with you next. Mum’s a nurse so…. Hang on. She might not be there. Probably sulking round Suzette’s place. Gramps might be up the hill for a bit longer. Not that you need to know who that is,” she babbled on to fill the silence. “Anyway, it might be just you and me until they get home.” 

“That’s fine,” he mumbled. “Have you got any painkillers in here?” 

Stopping the car, she scrambled through her handbag for a packet of paracetamol and a small bottle of water she carried for such emergencies. 

“You think of everything,” he gasped, obviously impressed. 

Waving off the compliment, she reworded her original question. “Do you remember what happened to you yet?”

“Yes, a bit. I think I fell from somewhere. A vehicle.” He glanced across and saw her concerned expression reflecting the dashboard lights. “Don’t worry though, it was an accident. Somebody didn’t do it deliberately to me. It’s all my own fault. Nothing that a little rest can’t cure and then I’ll be on my way.” 

Not feeling so convinced, she determined, “In that case, I’ll do us something to eat, and you can get cleaned up before bed. You can have the spare room for the night.” 

“Thank you,” he gratefully acknowledged. “That’s really kind of you.”

“It’s the least anyone would do. What’s your name?”

“Erm…” Biting his lip, he gazed forlornly at her. “Ah. I can’t remember.” 

“Never mind,” she answered, giving his knee a friendly pat in the confined space. “I know what that’s like. It’ll come to you in a few moments. What does it say in your wallet?” 

“I’ll look,” he promised, and dipped a hand into his inside jacket pocket. He drew out a wallet that held no money, driving licence or bank cards; merely a piece of paper with a single name written upon it, that he then read out. “John. I think it might be John,” he hesitantly said after some consideration. 

“There you go,” she brightly encouraged him, “told you something would show up. We have something to work with for now. Hello John, I’m Donna.” 

“Hello Donna,” he chimed, now feeling slightly better about his situation, and glad that he remembered her saying that earlier. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Any time.” 

John had tried to keenly watch the passing scenery after that, but the call of sleep was too much to resist and he soon succumbed to the urge to drift off for a while. The next time he opened his eyes, Donna was parking the car on the front drive of a familiar house. “I think I might have been here before.” 

“Have you?” she automatically queried. “Good. Perhaps Gramps knows who you are.” 

“I hope so,” he quietly wished. “Somebody needs to know who I am.”

Opening the front door for them both, and having established the house was otherwise empty, she suggested, “You go on up to the bathroom and start cleaning yourself up. I’ll find us something to warm in the oven to eat and then I will be there in a moment. How does that sound?” 

The thought of food already made his mouth water, so he happily complied. Something within him said it was best if he did. 

Having washed off most of the sooty grime on his face, he was just drying himself with a towel when Donna appeared at the bathroom door to peer in.

“There you are again,” she greeted his clean face. “Made it up here alright. It’s good to properly see you. I’ll tell you what though, I know who you remind me of.” 

His head whipped round in anticipation. “Who?”

She took in the thin freckled face edged by long sideburns, and his luminous brown eyes. “You look just like Gramps’ friend John Smith,” she considered. “It is! You’re John Smith.” 

“I’m John Smith,” he echoed in delight, and turned to peer at himself in the mirror above the sink. “Yes, that’s me.”

“That’s one mystery solved. I’ve bunged us a lasagne in the microwave. I hope that’s alright?” she offered, taking in his demeanour with satisfaction. 

Perhaps his memory was returning, and this’d be a celebration of some sort. Lucky him, a bitter part of her commented, but she quickly quelled such unkind thoughts. John gave off a reluctant air of needing to be looked after; and that appealed to her a great deal. 

With a wide grin on his face, he enthused, “That’d be wonderful. Let me help.”

“There’s not much to do,” she assured him as she led them both down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink while we’re waiting?”

“Tea, please.”

If she wasn’t careful, that smile of his would take up residence in her heart, she warned herself; and turned her attention to making them tea. 

Donna watched John sit back with some satisfaction, having consumed most of a reasonably decent shop-bought lasagne. “Remembered anything else yet? Like where you live, or work?”

“I’m afraid not,” he sadly admitted. “It’ll all come back. I’m sure of it. Something will spark every single detail.” It usually took a while. For some reason he knew that, but he also didn’t want to divulge that snippet. People tended to panic over that context. 

In that case, she’d have to go into action, she realised. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give Gramps a call and he should be able to tell us where you live, or where you might work. Useful stuff like that. Then we can soon get you home.” As he watched her, she brought her mobile phone to her ear and waited for her call to be answered. “Hello Gramps. You still up on the hill? Don’t be too late, will you. You’ve got a long day tomorrow. What, you won’t be back until when? Okay, but I wasn’t really calling about that. No, I wanted some information about your friend John Smith.” 

To her dismay, the line went silent for a second. 

“Who?” Wilf shakily queried.

“You know who I mean,” she continued. “John Smith. The bloke who came here the night of the planets in the sky. I need his address.”

“Nobody came that night,” Wilf tried to argue; thinking desperately how he could avoid this topic.

“Yes they did,” Donna insisted. “He was sitting chatting to you, with Mum, right here. Don’t think I’m _that_ stupid not to notice someone when they introduce themselves to me.” 

“Ah, John Smith.” There was another pause. “Oh sweetheart, you can’t contact him,” Wilf sadly replied. 

“What do you mean I can’t contact him?” Now feeling more than slightly angry, she demanded, glancing at John for moral support, “Why not?”

“Because…” Should he own up? He knew she would still attempt to contact the Doctor if he didn’t so, nearly sobbing on his words, Wilf admitted, “Because he died.”

“Died! He isn’t dead,” she insisted. The evidence was sitting right in front of her, for goodness sake. 

“He _is_ , sweetheart,” Wilf persisted. “I saw it happen with my own eyes. Horrible it was. There was an accident and some huge machine blew up. All this stuff flew out and he got burned. Killed him outright.” 

Her eyes instantly fixed on the burn marks on John’s clothing, the soot around his collar, and the horrified realisation in his expressive eyes. “Yeah, that’d do it,” she quietly agreed. “Thanks for that. See you later. Bye.” She then turned her sad face to John. “I suppose you heard all that. Apparently, you’re dead.”

John nodded in agreement. It felt right, he had to admit. “Yeah. I’m dead. Sorry, Donna.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Dead. You’re dead. But how can you be…” Donna waved a hand to denote John’s body “…standing there as if you aren’t? Or rather, sitting there; but you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “This is a new situation, even for me, and I’ve been in some very weird places. Shall we worry about all that later? I’m still starving.” 

“Oh right. Dessert,” she answered as though on autopilot. “I promised you some apple pie with ice cream.”

“Go on, ask me. I can’t stand you staring at me while I eat,” he huffed some moments later when he was handed a filled bowl. 

For some moments she flailed about. “But that’s just it, how can you eat if you’re dead. I mean, one of the major things we learnt in school was that living creatures need to eat, so by that logic, you shouldn’t have been tucking into a lasagne ready meal, let alone ice cream.” 

“I like ice cream,” he protested, and felt the burden of her scorn. “And yet here I am, doing just that, although the lasagne wasn’t worth the effort. Sorry.” 

“That’s okay,” she allowed with a shrug. “I didn’t cook it, merely heated it up from frozen. Blame the supermarket.” 

“In that case, I shall whip us up something tasty for breakfast, just for you,” he proposed. “How does that sound?”

Pushing the remnants of her meal away, she remarked, “Anything has got to be better than that bland muck.” Chewing on her bottom lip for a moment, she asked her pressing question. “Shouldn’t you have gone down a tunnel towards a light instead of hanging about with me?”

“I’ve wondered that too,” he admitted on almost the last mouthful of food. “From what Wilf said, I had a traumatic death. Perhaps I was murdered and I’m after the truth?” 

“Or revenge,” she suggested. “They obviously dumped you in the street I found you. There was no sign of a body left behind so you’re clinging to the earthly plain for some reason.” 

“Just falling out of alleyways or lying around on a wet road waiting for someone to show up doesn’t sound like my style at all. A bit of decent haunting would have been more on the cards.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulders. “I only met you for five minutes.” 

“Made an impact on you though,” he cheekily surmised, “if you remembered enough details about me to recognise my face.” 

“Geroff!” she blustered. “Perhaps you reminded me of a bag of spanners when I first saw you.” 

A grin spread across his face. “Or I’m the man of your dreams.” 

“Hark at him. Got more front than Southend,” she pretended to sneer. 

The grin stayed out in full force. “If you think I’m devilishly handsome, you’re allowed to admit it.” 

Her laughter couldn’t be held in any longer, and she howled in amusement as he chuckled too. “Those are not the words I’d use to describe you, so thanks for lightening the mood.” 

“Anything for you, Donna.” He then sobered slightly to say, “I wished we’d had the chance to know each other properly before this.” 

“Me too,” she agreed. “I think we might have been good friends.” 

“We still can be,” he pointed out. 

“For the time being, until you find out why you’re still here.”

“Perhaps I’m really here to fall in love with you,” he joked, and immediately regretted it when her expression turned sad. A story for later, no doubt, and he tried a different tactic on her. “Will you help me?” 

The sincere request fortunately broke her from her sad thoughts, much to her relief, so she made a play of pretending to look at a watch on her wrist. “Yeah, go on then. I’ve got five minutes to spare.” 

Laughing with delight, he grasped her hands and gave them a squeeze. “Thank you. I’ll do all that I can to make your life better.” 

“You’d better or I’ll be down the church booking an exorcism quicker than you can say Jack Robinson,” she teased. 

“Who’s Jack Robinson?” he wondered, scrunching his face up. 

She shrugged. “No idea, but apparently people go around trying to say his name quickly.” 

“A rather foolish pursuit,” he decided on a sniff. “What shall we do now?”

“Wash up these plates. Telly then bed,” she proposed. “I’ll make up the spare bed for you, find some decent pyjamas to wear, and smooth things over with Mum in the morning. She’ll be okay once I explain how I found you.”

“That all sounds like just what I need.” 

A formally dressed Sylvia Noble strode into the lounge early the following morning, clearly on a mission. She pointed her newly manicured fingernail at Donna. “I want a word with you. Your grandfather tells me you were asking about John Smith,” she stated; the underlaying vitriol surging through her words like tendrils of harsh light. 

Both Donna and John instantly rose from their seats, the television showing the latest news now completely forgotten.

Wanting to appease her wrath, for whatever reason it had appeared, Donna sought to halt the forthcoming awkward situation. “Yes, he’s-”

She was about to point out he was standing right behind her, but Sylvia interrupted her announcement. “You don’t want anything to do with _that_ man. Keep well away from any mention of him.”

“And why am I going to do that?” Donna sarcastically questioned. How could her mother be so rude in front of John?

Sylvia’s nostrils flared. “I mean it! Not one search on the computer, no going down the library, no trailing all over the countryside again, no quizzing your grandfather! Not if you value your life. Have you got that?!”

“Like, I don’t know... so you’re saying even visiting his grave will cause me harm? Don’t be daft,” Donna scoffed. “What’s going to happen? Alien demons will leap out the ground and grab me? Highly unlikely. Although I could sell my story to the trashy magazines you read, if it did.” She then acted out seeing the banner headline in the air. “Chiswick woman seeks zombie man for lasting relationship. No time wasters need apply.” 

As Donna spoke, John walked around Sylvia, to end up facing her, yet she didn’t look at him once, to their amazement. Could she see him? To test it out, he waved his hand across her face. All she did was bring her arm up briefly to adjust her coat. 

“I wouldn’t put it passed you having such fancy notions,” Sylvia bit out. “It’s really cold in here. Have you put the heating on? There’s a nasty draught.”

“I’ll give her ‘nasty draught’,” John complained, but Sylvia didn’t turn a hair. 

Instead, she asked, “Have you done something different in here? It feels odd.”

“No, nothing different,” Donna answered, hiding her amusement at John’s face as he flung himself about in a desperate attempt to be seen. “Apart from your obvious dislike of John Smith. What did he do wrong? And remember, it’s unlucky to speak ill of the dead.”

Sylvia merely huffed her disgust; all the words she’d love to say would have to stay unspoken. “Alright, he had his good points. Not many, mark you,” she reluctantly said, “but he… I just don’t want to talk about him. Alright.”

“Yes, that makes perfect sense. Not.” Donna glared at her mother. “Can you even tell me where he used to live?” she asked more softly. “You know, should I want to send his parents a condolence card, flowers or something. They must miss him terribly.”

But Sylvia stiffened even more. “No, I can’t tell you. They are dead, and that’s all I know. Just forget about him and get on with your life. Please.”

Donna’s eyes went wide. Was her mother really begging her to drop a topic? Good grief. This was highly unusual. But it was John who persuaded her.

“Just let her go, Donna. She obviously hates the very thought of me and will never say anything nice,” he reasoned, and sat down despondently. “I must have been a horrible person.”

“I don’t believe that,” she blurted out to console him, but Sylvia sniffed haughtily.

“Are you calling me a liar?!”

“Of course not, Mum,” Donna quickly backpedalled. “It’s just that I can’t believe he is worth totally forgetting. He must have been amazing.”

For a second she thought her mother was going to keel over with a heart attack as she clutched her hands to her face. But Sylvia was panicking, wondering if Donna was remembering even a tiny detail of her lost friend. One word, he had said, and she’d burn up. Was this it? Was her precious daughter about to combust and die before her very eyes? 

Her mouth had lost all moisture, leaving her unable to speak. How could she shut Donna up on this topic once and for all? “Well, I want no more talk of him. Ever. Do you hear me?” she cried on a strangled sob. 

Shocked, Donna could only nod. “Yes Mum.”

“Good.” Sylvia then turned on her heel, ready to close the conversation. “I probably won’t see you until tomorrow. Dad and me’ll bring you back some wedding cake.”

As if on cue, Wilf stuck his head around the open door to call her. “You ready yet? We need to get a wriggle on if we don’t want to miss it.” 

“Coming Dad,” Sylvia answered him and then aimed her next comment at Donna. “Don’t leave the place in a mess. Bye.”

After exchanging farewells, seconds later she and Wilf had gone, leaving Donna and John staring at each in horror. 

“That went well,” he commented to break the morose atmosphere that had descended on them. “Basically, welcomed me into the family.”

But Donna’s thoughts were on something else. “She couldn’t see you. Right in front of her face, and I doubt Gramps had any idea too, otherwise he’d have spoken to you.”

John’s countenance visibly sunk. “I know. It’s as if I don’t exist.”

“Then how can I see you? Can anyone else? We need to test this out,” she proposed. 

“What, you expect me to leap into people’s faces?” he wondered.

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” she agreed, ignoring his sarcastic tone. “We won’t know until you do.”

“Alright,” he reluctantly sighed, “I’ll go pretend I’m in ‘Rentaghost’. But if someone does see me and freaks out, it’ll be your fault.”

“Naturally,” she agreed with a nod of her head. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Now go do your Caspar or Peeves impression.”

“I’m going, right now,” he declared without hardly moving, “out into the wilds of London. Out where a decent ghost isn’t safe.”

“Give over, you wally!” she mocked, so he threw her a cheeky grin, opened the front door and walked out into the street. 

From her position at the window, she was easily able to see him try to catch the attention of several passers-by, all without result. She giggled when he began to bow low, feign putting out his pretend cloak to ease their way, or caught a stray orange before it totally escaped from a broken shopping bag. Her smiles turned fonder when he assisted an old lady down the street, holding on to her arm so that she could walk with more confidence. 

It struck her that he hadn’t disrespected one single person as he joked about. “Yeah, a totally bad person not worth remembering at all,” she scorned the thought of her mother’s words. Instead, she ought to be celebrating how wonderful he was and mourning the fact she never got to be friends with him in life.

Yet, here he was, in her life, offering that golden opportunity. They could be friends for as long as the hereafter allowed them to be. 

“Are you still thinking about me?” he cheerily pondered when he eventually wandered back into her home. “Okay, the experiment proved only you can see me, but I can move objects. That’s one question answered, maybe two. I love a good question.” 

“Now all we have to solve is the ‘how’ and whether this is a short-term acquaintance.”

“Good questions,” he trilled as he threw himself down onto her settee to sprawl along it. “Excellent, in fact. And every good question deserves a cup of tea.”

If that wasn’t a request for tea, she didn’t know what was. “Alright, I’ll make us some tea but you, mister, are doing dinner.”

He bowed his head in mock obeyance. “It would be my pleasure. Got any baked beans and bread to make toast?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** contains references to the events near the end of the episode "The Big Bang", S05ep13.

“Did your mum say she’s bringing back wedding cake?” John wondered as they ate beans on toast for a late lunch. 

“She certainly did,” Donna confirmed, and looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “The ceremony would have started by now.”

He followed her gaze to look up at the clock too before asking, “Whose wedding is it? And why aren’t you going?”

Donna sighed and readied herself for loads of questions. “They’re going to my cousin’s daughter Amy’s wedding. A bit of family solidarity, since she’s had a tough time over the years. She’s marrying her childhood sweetheart. Aw, he’s a real cutie and works as a nurse.”

“That doesn’t tell me why you aren’t there,” he verbally prodded as he shovelled in more beans. 

“I couldn’t face it,” she forlornly admitted. “She’s barely in her twenties and achieving all the things I should have done in life. Well, I almost made it. Had a fiancé and a wedding planned but Shaun dumped me the other week,” she continued, wiping away a tear. 

His fork stopped midway to his mouth as this news hit him.

Wedding. 

Shaun. 

The words and image of her in a wedding dress, standing next to a Shaun outside a church burst into his mind. She was supposed to marry Shaun. It was her destiny. And he had seen it before he died. 

Stunned, he echoed, “A wedding planned?”

She nodded. “The church, hall, dresses, everything. I suppose I ought to cancel it all, but I haven’t had the heart to yet.”

“Don’t cancel it. Don’t cancel anything,” he quickly urged her. “You never know, this might be just a short break in your relationship, and Shaun will soon see sense.”

It was good to hear her own thoughts said back to her by someone else, instead of the usual stuff. “I can live in hope.”

“Let’s drink to that,” he suggested, and held up his mug of tea. 

The rest of the day was spent with him learning the intricacies of a Sky TV remote, a streaming service that offered loads of films at the touch of a button, and Tv channels that showed old British comedies from the 70 s and 80s. 

He spent a happy hour or two telling her “I remember this!” as they flicked through various programmes, even though she wanted to throw the remote at his head at one point for being unable to stay on one channel for longer than two minutes. Luckily, her patience allowed him this small flaw. Well, it did, until he skipped past a programme she actually liked quite a lot; and then they had fun squabbling over who would hold the TV remote from now on.

What she did note, as they sat side by side, on the settee giggling at a comedy from long ago, was how comfortingly tactile he was. He liked holding hands, he admitted, but it wasn’t a romance thing, he just loved the reassurance somebody else was there. And who was she to deny him such a basic comfort? It cost her nothing, and she felt the warmth of his friendship in return. 

It couldn’t make up for losing her fiancé, but it certainly went a long way toward making her feel better about her situation. 

As she lay in bed that night, the events of the last couple of days swirled around her mind. One moment she had been the lowest she had ever felt, and soon after, John had entered her life, bringing hope, and weirdness. Lots of weirdness. Was it even normal to have a ghost or supernatural being haunting your life? Especially one that suddenly felt like your best friend.

“Are you in bed, Donna?” came her mother’s voice from the other side of the bedroom door.

“Yes,” she called back. “How did the wedding go?”

The door immediately opened, and Sylvia peered in. “It was lovely,” she enthused, somewhat guardedly. “But it was a good job you didn’t go. Really good job, now that I think about it. There was a lot of noise, lights, and dancing at the reception,” she added.

“Isn’t there supposed to be all that?” Donna pondered. “People enjoying themselves, drinking, dancing, and that sort of thing.”

“Normally, yes,” Sylvia cautiously answered as thoughts of the young man they’d proclaimed was the Doctor - although she certainly didn’t believe it was the same person she had thrown out of her house that terrible night, despite her father trying to say it was _him_ \- dancing like some demented baby giraffe, flittered through her mind. “But seeing as you get those terrible migraines, it would have triggered quite a lot of pain.”

“Oh.” Relief and a tiny bit regret washed through Donna. “What about the service?” 

“Lovely. Amy looked beautiful, and Rory was like the cat that had got the cream,” Sylvia gushed. “She sent her regards. And we saved you… Hang on.” She turned then to shout, “Dad! Have you got Donna’s piece of cake?”

“Hello sweetheart,” Wilf greeted Donna as he appeared in the doorway. “Hope you’ve feeling better. We brought you some cake. Here you go,” he said, handing over the wrapped-up item. “Put that under your pillow and dream of your future husband.”

“Thanks, Gramps,” Donna replied, eyeing the fluorescent pink serviette that held a piece of iced fruit cake. “What pattern did they go for?”

“I can’t remember,” he admitted, giving his head a scratch. “Do you know, Sylve?”

“Can’t say I really got the chance to look at the cake before it was all cut up,” Sylvia was surprised to realise. Obviously, the massive distraction of the TARDIS turning up like it had had caused some of her memories to disappear. “Plain white with tiny flowers, I think. I’ll have to ask Amy if they got any photos of it when they get back from their honeymoon.”

“No need to worry them,” Donna attempted to halt her future actions. “I was only wondering; nothing more.”

“You get back to sleep,” Wilf kindly suggested, “and we’ll see you in the morning.”

Sylvia fondly smiled at her daughter before cautioning, “Don’t get cake all over the bedding, will you.”

“I won’t,” Donna readily promised. “Good night.”

Moments later, John softly knocked on her door and entered. “They’re back then,” he unnecessarily commented. 

She could feel his eyes lingering on the item held on her lap. “They brought cake too, if you want some.”

“Yes, please,” he excitedly accepted her offer. “Is it alright to come in?”

“Yeah, come and sit down.” She patted a clear part of the bedcovers in invitation for him to sit there. “It’s better that you eat this rather than me.”

“Why?” he asked as he readily took the cake. “Are you allergic?”

“No, you prawn. I mustn’t eat cake. I’m on a diet.”

In between gulps of cake, he wondered, “What for? You don’t need to lose weight.”

“Are you mad?!” she near shrieked. 

“Donna!? Who are you talking to? Are you okay in there?” her mother called out.

“Just quickly answering Veena, Mum!” she yelled back. “I’m going to sleep now. Honest.”

“See that you do,” came the reply. “You’ll wake the whole house talking like that.”

“Sorry!” Donna then glared at John, and whispered, “You’ll get me into trouble. Quick. Get in under here,” she ordered, and held up the covers up high for him to clamber in.

“This is nice,” he noted, as he adjusted his body to lie down. “Very cosy.”

“Also very secret,” she softly informed him. “So no telling anyone I let you into my bed.”

“Who would I tell?” he demanded to know. “Not that I _would_ boast, but I can only talk to you.”

“As far as we know,” she tacked on. 

He turned onto his side to look at her properly in the diminished light. “Why are we still whispering under your duvet?” he wondered.

“Because Mum will hear me if I talk normally,” she explained. 

He frowned. “But she can’t hear me,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” she acknowledged, “but if you speak louder so will I, so keep it low.”

“Okay. By the way, I think I know why I’m here”

“Oh? Why?”

Ready for his grand statement, he stated hoarsely, “I’m here to get you back with Shaun. It’s your destiny to marry him.”

“Well that one’s flown out the window!” she huffed.

“No, hear me out. I can try to nudge him into forgiving you for whatever you did, resulting in you being undumped. Well, undumped-ish and back into fiancée territory.”

She gawped at him, and tried to ignore his tender touch upon her arm. “Are you even aware why he dumped me in the first place?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “I probably wasn’t listening properly,” he quickly tried to excuse himself, “what will all the just realising I was dead thing.”

She tried not to huff in a breath. “He dumped me after I had a major funny turn at Christmas.”

Without meaning to interrupt her, he asked, “What happened?” 

“Apparently, I went wandering out the back gate, and ended up near the garages before passing out. Shaun said I was different afterwards, all cold and aloof. That I wasn’t the Donna he got engaged to.”

John eased nearer to offer comfort with his presence. “That’s harsh. You were ill, not deliberately nasty.”

“Tell him that,” she spat. “All I know is, he ditched me less than two weeks later.”

“You’re not cold and aloof,” he assured her, wrapping his arms around her body to draw her close. “You are warm, kind, friendly, wonderful. You picked up a total stranger off the street, and here I am, now in your bed.” 

“You do realise that sounds like a one-night stand, or I’m on the game,” she commented into his comforting neck. 

He chuckled. “I’m a lot more than that. I’m the man who will make your dreams come true. Your wedding dreams. I promise.” 

Wanting to but unable to believe him, she quietly begged, “Just hold me for now. The rest will work itself out later.”

But he’d made a vow now, and he was determined to stick to it.


	5. Chapter 5

Sunday didn’t go too bad, considering, if you ignored all the suspicious looks Sylvia threw Donna throughout the day. “What are you doing?” she’d asked on more than one occasion when she saw her daughter mouthing some words.

In the end, John had practically draped himself over Donna in order to hear whatever she was trying to say; and in turn, she kept trying to surreptitiously throw him off. 

“Can’t we go out somewhere?” he whined. “Anywhere to get away from your mother. She’s driving me nuts with her questions.” 

“Okay, leave it with me,” she tried to silently say. “Mum,” she announced, “I’m just going to pop out for a while. Have a bit of a walk, like you’re supposed after a large Sunday dinner.”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why? Meeting a new man somewhere?” 

Sort of. “No,” Donna denied. “Why are you asking that?”

There was a huff and Sylvia returned her attention back to her knitting. “Because it would be like you to go throw yourself on the first man you see.” 

Before Donna could reply, her new friend jumped in front of her. He was absolutely livid! “I want to punch her,” John seethed. “Is that allowed? How dare she! Make her feel guilty.” He the stood with arms folded, urging Donna to carry out his violent wishes.

Donna blinked a few times at her mother and in a quiet voice stressed, “I only wanted to...” She gave a tiny, dramatic sob and then continued, “I only wanted to be alone for a while and go visit Dad’s grave.”

“Oh Donna,” Sylvia compassionately sighed, and brought a hand up to her throat.

“Now that is good,” John praised. “I’d even go as far as to say impressive,” he added when he peered into Sylvia’s eyes and saw tears there. “She believes you.”

Giving a melancholy sniff, Donna dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. “After all this business with the wedding, I keep thinking about him,” she claimed in a pitiful voice. “You don’t mind me going to have a chat with him, do you?”

“Of course not,” Sylvia insisted, getting up to give her daughter a loving hug. “You go talk to your dad. Take as long as you want.” Letting go of her, she added, “Give him my love.” 

“Will do,” Donna promised, wiping her eyes. “I’ll go and get my coat.”

“Smooth. Really smooth,” John commented, falling into step with her in the hallway. “How are you going to talk to me as we walk along?”

“I’ll take my phone,” Donna seemed to announce to no one in particular, just in case. 

John graced her with one of his beaming smiles. “You’re brilliant. Have I ever told you that?”

She stopped mid-step on the pathway outside. “Seems familiar, now that you mention it.”

“Probably because lots of people think so,” he reasoned.

But she shook her head. “No, honest, it isn’t that.”

He took hold of her arm then to clasp her hand tight. “Then they should, and I will personally praise you at every opportunity.” 

“Give over,” she chided but laughed with delight nevertheless.

“Here he is,” she proclaimed as they neared the grave she wanted.

“Geoffrey John Noble, beloved husband and father,” John read out.

“Yeah, another John,” she noted to tease him. “Common as muck they are.”

“Oi!” he protested. “Some respect for the dead, if you please.”

She sobered to ask, “Do you know?”

“Know what?” he wondered as he investigated the other gravestones.

“Where they put you,” she clarified. “Would it have been a burial or a cremation?”

“No idea,” he tried to nonchalantly reply, making his way back to her. “Does it make a difference?”

“I could leave you some flowers there for a start, if I knew.” After a thought, she added, “You might still be lying in a mortuary somewhere, waiting to be claimed.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he softly consoled her when she teared up, raising a hand to give her shoulder a touch. “I’m perfectly happy being here, with you. Whatever happened to me, I’m no longer in pain or fretting over stuff I can’t now change, and I’m loving my chance to learn more about you.”

“But what if I’m stopping you being reunited with the ones you love?” she argued. “Hanging about with me when you should be living it up in Heaven, or somewhere, if you see what I mean.

“Donna,” he sighed, drawing her into his embrace, “we came here to chat, not get all upset over my demise. I had my opportunity at life; now it’s your turn.”

She lifted her head to look into his tender expression. “But what if I feel guilty about that and want to set you free?”

Deeply touched, he kissed her forehead. “Then let me help you reunite with Shaun. We can do this. Together. What do you say? Are you game to try?”

“Yes,” she answered, and sank into his embrace again.

“I’ll get it!” Wilf called out to his daughter when the doorbell rang. His enthusiasm slightly dimmed when he saw Suzette standing on the doorstep. He’d been secretly hoping it was one of his Silver Cloak crowd. “Afternoon Suzette,” he greeted her. “Come on in. Sylvia’s in the kitchen.”

“Hello Wilf. I’m not stopping long,” she proclaimed as she crossed the threshold. “But I had to come and see you.”

“What, me personally?” he spluttered.

“No, the pair of you,” Suzette corrected. “Ah, Sylvia,” she commented on seeing her friend, “I’ve just seen your Donna, down at St Mary’s.”

“She’s gone to visit Geoff’s grave,” Sylvia supplied. “Tea?”

“I’m not stopping long enough for tea,” Suzette answered, causing extreme surprise in her audience. “I have to get back to feed his Nibs. Anyway.” She took a moment to catch her breath. “I thought I’d let you know Donna was acting really strange.”

“In what way?”

“Well,” Suzette began, edging nearer for a better effect. “She was talking to herself.”

“So?” Sylvia countered. “People often talk to the person in the grave.”

“Yes, but…” Suzette paused again. “It was as if she truly believed he was answering back. As if he was walking with her through the whole of the graveyard.”

“And how do you know that?” questioned Wilf. “Been following her?”

“Not as such,” Suzette defended herself. “She’s a lovely girl. Don’t get me wrong. I wish no harm to come to her. But what she was doing ain’t normal. Laughing away and chatting nineteen to the dozen when nobody ain’t there.”

Sylvia stiffened. “She’s had a difficult time of it lately. If it helps her to go talk to her dad then that’s what’s needed.”

“Ah,” Suzette countered, “I thought so too, right up until she gave this invisible person a name.”

“What name did she call them?”

“John,” Suzette stated with some satisfaction. “Which is nothing like ‘Dad’, so I couldn’t have misheard her.” 

Sylvia shared a puzzled concerned look with her father. “Probably some passing phase,” she tried to dismiss it. “Or learning a part for a play we don’t know about yet.”

“That could be it,” Wilf quickly agreed. “She said she wanted to do something different with her evenings.”

“I’ll leave it with you then,” Suzette decided, now satisfied with this answer. “Let me know when the play is on, won’t you.”

“Will do,” Wilf agreed, and let Sylvia escort her friend to the door. 

“What do you make of that?” she asked as soon as she returned to the kitchen.

“More than a bit of a coincidence,” he reasoned, “her pretending to talk to a John, just after she was quizzing me about where John Smith lives.”

“Too much of one,” a concerned Sylvia confirmed. “Oh Dad, what are we going to do?”

“Wait and see,” he advised, taking her hand to give it a squeeze. “Might be something or might be nothing at all. For all we know, she could be writing a book and using him as one of her characters.”

“Do really you think so?”

It was a small piece of hope that their Donna was alright, and he’d hold onto it as long as possible. “As I said, give her the chance to tell us first.”

“Hello Donna!” they both cheerily greeted Donna when she appeared in the lounge.

“Hello,” she cautiously answered. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just pleased to see you,” Wilf replied. 

“Really pleased that you are home,” Sylvia added, grinning for everything she was worth. “Do you want some tea?”

As she bustled off to put the kettle on, Donna eyed her grandfather. “Okay,” she slowly began. “What’s really going on here? Did I miss something while I was out?”

What worried her was that Wilf tried to hide his expression by suddenly looking in the Sunday paper to find out what was on telly next. “Nothing much happened here, sweetheart. How did things go down at the cemetery?”

“The usual,” she responded. “Lots of grass, graves, and birds singing.”

He lowered the paper to ask, “And you got to see to your dad’s grave alright?”

“Yes,” she insisted and then relented slightly. “Well, when I say alright, I forgot to take some flowers with me. But I tidied it all up as best I could.”

“That’s good,” he trilled as though she had imparted something of major interest. “And erm… did you see anyone there?”

“No one I knew,” she admitted. “Although someone who looked a bit like Suzette kept hiding from me. I thought that can’t be her because she’d come up and talk to me.”

He nodded in agreement. “You’d expect her to.”

“Anyway. I thought I’d have this cup of tea then go read in bed for a while.”

His newspaper was completed discarded as Wilf regarded her in concern. “You not feeling well, sweetheart?”

“I’m alright. I just want some time to catch up with my reading and that,” she assured him.

“He doesn’t believe you,” John chimed in. “Look at his eyes. He’s worried.”

Giving John a faint nod of acknowledgement, she got up and went over to kiss Wilf on the top of his head, and gave him a hug too. “It’s been an emotional weekend, Gramps, but I’ll soon get over it. You’ll see.”

“Just make sure that you do that,” he begged. “I can’t bear to see you upset.”

“See! I’m not the only one,” John pointed out. “This proves you are loved.”

She waved him off, over the top of Wilf’s head. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll even go out and sneak you a biscuit.”

“You’re a star!”

A few seconds later he heard Donna declare, “I’ll help pour out the tea, Mum.”

However, John felt equally cared for some moments later when she silently indicated that she’d secretly left him both a mug of tea and some biscuits on the stairs. His joy knew no bounds. 

“Thanks for the tea,” he enthused as he entered her bedroom later. He’d politely given her enough time to change into her pyjamas before approaching her. “Did you want me to change too and come back?”

“You don’t have to yet,” she kindly assured him. “Although I wish you had something better to wear than that ruined suit.”

“This old thing,” he noted, looking down at himself. “Needs a touch of TLC, shall we say. I used to have some nice clothes. If I was truly magic, I’d be able to change with a snap of my fingers.” He then did just that: snapped his fingers. 

She immediately gasped in surprise.

“What?” he wondered, and then looked down again. “Donna! My clothes! Donna, look! They’ve changed. My clothes have changed.” He beamed a huge, triumphant smile at her. 

“Do it again,” she urged.

“Rightio.” He readied himself by standing tall and gave his shoulders a shake. “Change, now!” And snapped his fingers. 

“It didn’t work.”

“I can see that,” he huffed. “What did I do different this time?”

“You weren’t looking at me,” she suggested.

So he stared at her and snapped his fingers.

Nothing happened. 

“Were you thinking anything different while you did it?” she asked.

“Erm…” He tried to think back. “I actually visualised what I’d like to wear. Perhaps that’s the significant bit.”

“Then give it a go,” she encouraged. 

In response, he thought of his original suit, but when it was pristine. 

“That worked!” she near squealed. “Try something else.”

He blew out his cheeks as he considered another item.

“Oh dear,” she exclaimed, holding up a hand in front of her face. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to see all that.”

“What? I only thought of my birthday… Oh!” he shrieked, and quickly hid himself as best he could. “Look away!” he told her. “Think pyjamas,” he ordered himself.

“Phew! That’s better,” she confirmed when she next looked up. “It’s a good job nobody else can see you.”

“Ha ha,” he mocked. “Some people thought I was rather dashing when I was alive.”

“Would that be during normal circumstances or only dashing towards the bathroom when you had diarrhoea?” 

“You think you are _so_ funny,” he griped, throwing himself down onto the bed, with arms folded and a pout on his face. “I used to have admirers.”

“I’m sure you did,” she assured him, and reached out to give his arm a comforting stroke. “I bet all the girls ran after you.”

“Well, I had a couple that ran _with_ me,” he conceded, “as far as I remember; which isn’t very far.”

“But it’s something,” she agreed. “Losing your memory is no fun.”

“Have you lost your memory?” he pondered. When she reluctantly nodded, he shimmied up the bed in order to wrap her in a loose embrace. “Tell me all about it. Every single detail.”

Perhaps it was having someone truly listen to her for the first in ages, or the sheer fact she had a decent friend in her life, but Donna found that relating the last of all her woes made her feel warm and fuzzy in his arms. In what seemed like no time at all, they had both drifted off into a peaceful and refreshing sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** this contains a reference to the Big Finish vol. 3 audio story "[No Place](https://www.bigfinish.com/news/v/tenth-doctor-volume-3)"

He was woken roughly the next morning by having the curtains swept back and the sun hitting him right in the eyeballs. “Do you have to?!” he loudly grumbled. “I was comfortable, and asleep. Why are you up so early?”

From her perch on the end of the bed, Donna retorted, “It’s called going to work, John. Normal people do it every day.”

“How disgusting,” he replied, throwing himself back down onto his comfortable pillow. “Shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Not all of us have the privilege of going without food to keep living, so we earn money to keep a roof over our heads.”

He opened one eye to peer at her brushing her long ginger hair. Given the option, he would have offered to do that for her. “You’re just using being dead against me, again.”

“As if I would,” she scoffed as she stood up. “Were you coming with me or are you going to lounge about here all day?”

“Erm…,” came from somewhere under the bedcovers. “Alright, I’ll come with you but give me a minute or two to revive myself.”

“Won’t that need a witch’s cauldron and some incantations?” she wondered. “You know, eye of toad and hair of newt?”

“Ha ha, he drily laughed. “Just for that, I’m going to nick your toast.”

“You try it, mate, and you’ll feel the power of my right hand,” she warned. 

“In front of your mother?” he threatened. “I’d like to see that.”

In answer she merely made a throttling action.

“Do we have to travel on the bus?” he whined not more than half an hour later during the morning commute, and then glared at a man who had the audacity to walk through him.

The man, in turn, shuddered with the cold, and turned his collar up. 

“Almost there,” Donna quietly sing-songed in order to answer him. Good grief! Couldn’t he stop complaining about being with other people?

In fact, she was quite relieved when the bus stop loomed up and they could get off, to join the general hustle and bustle on the pavement. Apart from when John started deliberately swooping through people who aimed straight for him, causing her to giggle at his superhero poses. 

“You look happy to be back at work,” a woman immediately greeted Donna as they entered her workplace office. “Been a bad weekend?”

“Morning Viv. No, not bad. Just different,” Donna answered as she joined her. As she sat down, she tried not to follow what John was doing as he investigated the room. 

His eyes were agog, peering at all the new faces, various computer screens, and exploring every office in the building. 

By tea break he had found everything there was to discover and had wandered back to Donna’s desk to bother her. “Donna. Donna! Why aren’t you talking to me?” he grumbled when she refused to discuss the intricacies of her computer tower. 

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she pretended that her phone had rang along with someone else’s nearby and spoke into the handset to her phantom caller. “Hello; sorry, we are not allowed personal calls during working hours,” she stated in business-like tones. “Please call back later.”

“But Donna,” he drawled in irritation, “there must be some way you can communicate with me beyond giving me death glares.”

In answer, she brought up a notepad app on the screen and typed in, “This will have to do but there’s not much room and I could get caught doing this.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “I see. How about I go and find out some gossip instead? There’s bound to be loads of people I can spy on.” 

She nodded vigorously. “Go do that,” she whispered as she closed the app, “and I’ll see you later.”

With a cheery wave, he was gone.

The moment he returned to her office was quite easy to pinpoint. A squeal of horror from some young girl by the cold-water dispenser had been a dead giveaway, for a start. Him suddenly sticking his head through her monitor screen like a pop-up puppet was another. 

“Hello. I’m back,” he announced, grinning broadly. “Did you miss me?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “Why was that girl shrieking?”

He stood straighter and then perched himself on the end of her desk to reply, “Oh, her?” he idly voiced and gave a dismissive sniff. “She said something nasty about your freckles, so she ended up accidentally pouring her whole cup of cold water all down her front. How sad.”

“Very,” Donna tried to agree but she was giggling too much. “Did you find any news?”

“Did I!” he enthused. 

Before he could say anymore, she picked up her pen and dramatically wailed, “Oh dear!” And dropped into on the floor. To his amusement, she then dipped down and gestured for him to follow with a tweak of her finger. 

“Playing tents, eh? Okay, I’ll come down there too,” he acknowledged, and followed her under the desk, to sit on the floor where she was generally out of sight. 

“Get over here,” she hoarsely whispered and reached out to pull him closer. “I mustn’t be seen or heard. Especially by Karen.”

“All right,” he huffed, “but I might end up sitting on you.” 

In the under-desk gloom, they eyed one another; sitting almost nose to nose. “We’ll see if this works,” she suggested, “but….”

“But what?” he wondered, and only then realised how close he was. “You know, if I was a complete cad, I’d kiss you right now,” he tried to causally note with a gulp.

“And are you? A cad, I mean,” she softly pondered. “Although that’d make you one of those old-fashioned romantic heroes from Mum’s Mills & Boon books.”

“I can be romantic,” he went to protest. “If that was what you want,” he then blustered, “and kissing was on the cards.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a little bit of a crush,” she remarked, ignoring the thrill that thought sent through her body.

“Ye-No,” he hotly denied. “Unlike some I could name.”

“Who?”

“Well,” he said with relish, glad to change the subject, “in the third office on the right, the bloke, Pete somebody or other, in there has a thing for the woman across the corridor. I think her name is Sharon. Anyway. He’s built a tiny shrine in his top drawer and is planning to anonymously send her flowers on her birthday.”

“Really,” Donna gasped in interest. “What else did you discover?”

“Her in accounts with the blonde hair is having an affair with someone that works on the second floor. They send little cryptic notes to each other and she uses a decoding wheel to work it out,” John happily supplied. “They apparently have a thing for playing at being spies.”

“No!”

“That bloke in the navy suit who gives you grief about not working hard enough? Well,” he continued conversationally, “I’ve just caught him still playing some Candy Crush type game on his phone. He’s been at it for hours. Absolutely hours.”

“The wan-”

“You should have seen his face when I pressed the screen where he didn’t want me to,” he interrupted. “The screen went off like a firework display. Serves him right. And the tarty one who accused you of using hair dye made a desperate dash for the toilets, so I followed her.”

“You didn’t,” she chided.

“Not to go into the actual stall with her, obviously,” he tacked on. “I’m not that interested to see her bottom, thank you very much.”

“Okay, you’re forgiven,” she reluctantly said. “What did you find out about her?”

“She carries around in her handbag a mini can of hair dye. A bit like Just for Men, but she was spraying her roots,” he gleefully informed her. “Which means she blatantly lied to you about it being her natural colour.”

“Oh John,” she giggled madly, loving his new insights. 

“Is there anything the matter, Miss Noble?” a stern voice boomed from above them.

Donna peeped out and saw Karen Sharpe, the office manager glaring down at her. “Hello Ms Sharpe. Nothing’s wrong,” she explained as she scrambled to her feet. John gentlemanly assisted her up and onto her chair. “I was just searching for my lost pen. It was in pieces, but I found it all.” Said pen was held out in demonstration.

“I see,” Karen drily agreed, peering imperially at Donna’s offered pen. “Now that you’ve found it, I suggest you get on with your work and stop seeming to waste time under your desk.”

“I’m not exactly camping here,” Donna quietly but sarcastically muttered. 

“Pardon?” Karen indignantly retorted.

“I said I’m cramping here,” Donna lied, giving her back a tender rub. John, bless him, added in a rub too to emphasise her excuse, despite Karen not being able to see him. “Been sitting in the same position for too long. Perhaps I’ll treat myself to a walk up to the coffee machine in a minute.”

“You do that,” Karen allowed. “But don’t take too long about it.”

Donna merely gave her a polite nod, got up, and headed for where the coffee cups were kept, intending to make a hot drink for herself and one for John. 

“How did you like your first day at my workplace?” she asked him later, as soon as it was safe to, back in her bedroom.

Before answering, he threw himself down onto her bed for dramatic effect. “No offence but, I never intend to do that again. After ten minutes, I wanted to come home.”

“We all feel like that,” she consoled him, “but at least you can legitimately keep away from it if you want to. Lucky you.”

“I can?” he beamed happily at her. “Then I shall spend tomorrow right here.”

Living the dream, the following days, wasn’t quite what he’d expected. Life, or rather death, with Donna out at work was boring. He didn’t know quite what to do with himself. There’s only so much dipping your finger in Sylvia’s tea so that it went cold or waving your arms about in front of Wilf’s face that you can do before you got totally bored of it, he’d found out long ago. 

He’d tried being helpful, by bringing in the milk, making the tea, taking the bread out of the toaster, and preparing Wilf a sandwich; but Wilf kept looking puzzled, and had even at one point voiced his fear to Sylvia that dementia was setting in. 

Wanting to halt that unhappy thought, John had stopped carrying out little deeds. In desperation, he had turned on afternoon television. 

That was when he, quite by accident, found out exactly who he was. 

On the screen, some unknown women were talking about their lives. Drivel, drone, moan. Then one of them mentioned a new television programme that was about to start; about the paranormal. They said that one such infamous programme had never been broadcast despite being of major general interest. A programme called ‘Haunted Makeover’.

John sat on the edge of his seat as he watched the clip they showed. A happily married couple who were forcing their relationship onto the cameraman were gleaming out of the screen. A really familiar couple. Him and Donna. 

Just to confirm it, him on the screen cheerily stared at the camera as he said, “Hello! Good to meet you. Doctor John Smith. Meet the wife.”

Meet the wife!

Standing next to him was Donna, his wife.

There was even footage of Sylvia and Wilf joyfully introducing themselves as family, he noted, to his horror. All working together to renovate an ex-community centre he had bought.

The women on the afternoon programme babbled something about Justin and then soon turned onto another subject, but John couldn’t be bothered with that. He switched the television off and sat with his swirling thoughts. He had been married to Donna. They had been happy, and Sylvia had approved. She had approved! Why then was she so determined to make Donna forget about him? Why break her heart like that?

And then the reason _why_ settled over him. It was because he’d told her to. Him. Had insisted on it. Donna was not to remember his existence. Yet here he was, forcing his way back into her life. 

Oh dear. How wizard. 

More importantly, he wasn’t _just_ John Smith. He was the Doctor. THE Doctor! Time Lord, renegade, and loads of other stuff too that somebody had called him.

How was he going to explain this to her? As it was, his very presence was dangerous to her well-being. He couldn’t tell her the absolute truth, not now, after he’d taken such care to keep her alive. 

It didn’t take long for him to come up with a plan. The problem was, he realised, it might need some help from his old friends. Friends who had no way of seeing him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** a shorter chapter (thanks to a bout of migraines), containing more slight spoilers/references to "[No Place](https://www.bigfinish.com/news/v/tenth-doctor-volume-3)" and a TV programme called "Talking Women" that's bears no resemblance to "Loose Women" at all. Honest. *tries to look innocent*

John’s nervousness didn’t improve one jot when Suzette phoned Sylvia mere minutes later.

“Hello,” Sylvia warmly greeted her friend. “It’s not like you to phone in the afternoon. I thought you went round Jean’s on Fridays.”

“I do normally,” Suzette agreed, “but’s she’s got a bad head cold. Anyway, that isn’t the reason I’m phoning. Were you watching ‘Talking Women’ just now?”

“That ITV lunch show?” Sylvia sought to confirm. When Suzette said it was, she continued, “No, we don’t tend to put it on. Why?”

“Then put the +1 channel on, right away,” Suzette ordered, “because you were on there.”

“Hang on,” a somewhat dazed Sylvia tried to keep her on the line, “I’ll get Dad.” She then yelled out, “Dad! Come in here! We’re on the telly!”

He came running in. “We are?” he queried and then helped her use the tv remote when she thrust it towards him.

“No! Don’t look,” John begged them, but they blatantly ignored him by finding the appropriate channel.

“They’re talking about Derren Brown,” Sylvia told her friend still on the phone in her hand.

“Ah. You should turn up in a few minutes,” Suzette replied. “Call me back once you’ve seen yourselves.”

An astonished Wilf regarded Sylvia as though she was nuts. “We don’t normally watch this. Why does Suzette think we should?”

“We’ll soon find out,” Sylvia answered, seating herself carefully on the settee, and rubbing her arms when a cold chill seemed to flow across her lap.

It was due to John dancing about, almost pulling his hair out in panic. “You mustn’t see this,” he argued with himself, “but if you do, then maybe you’ll understand. At least I can stop you saying anything to Donna. You won’t say anything, will you?”

He gained no reply. Partly because their attention was on the telly, and mainly because they couldn’t hear him. Not exactly news to him, yet he had forgotten as terror took had gradually crept over his mind. 

And then the dreaded words were said by some presenter whose name was a complete mystery to him, “There was supposed to have been a paranormal makeover programme hosted by Justin. We’ve been lucky enough to have been given this clip of ‘Haunted Makeovers!’…” 

“That’s his Lordship,” Wild immediately remarked as soon as John’s face appeared.

“And Donna,” Sylvia gasped. “Oh look! There’s us!”

The clip then ended but the damage had been done, as it were. 

“Nobody knows why that episode has never been shown or where Justin is now,” the host continued to tell the general audience. But the rest of their blabber was cut off by Wilf turning the television off.

“That’s enough of that,” he stated judgementally. “Poor bloke. If they knew they’d have more respect.”

“Do you mean the Doctor or Justin, Dad?”

“Well,” Wilf blustered, taken slightly aback. “Both, I suppose, but I was thinking of the Doctor.”

“Oh Wilf,” John sighed with partial delight at the tears that sprung into Wilf’s eyes. “I knew you liked me, but I’m touched by your sentiment. Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

Alas, Wilf had no idea he had said that. Instead, he fretted, “Do you think anyone will tell Donna we was on the telly?”

“No,” Sylvia drawled, trying to convince herself. “Only pensioners and students watch afternoon television.”

“People like Suzette,” he pointed out. 

“Oh dear,” Sylvia sighed. “I’ll have to make something up to keep her quiet on the subject.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Yes, do tell him, Sylvia,” John goaded her. “I can’t wait to hear how you’ll cover this one. I’m especially keen to find out how you’ll explain the presence of me.”

“I’ll erm… I’ll use her accident.”

“Ah yes, the infamous ‘accident’,” John sarcastically remarked. “Well go on then. Phone her back.”

“What would this have to do with the accident?” Wilf asked. “I can’t think of anything convincing.”

Holding the phone in her hand, Sylvia begged, “Give me a minute or two to think.”

“You’d have to say something about John Smith now being dead, how upset our Donna is and… Oh!” Wilf’s eyes went wide in shock. “Bit of a coincidence his name cropping up after Donna had asked me about him at the weekend.”

“Too much of one,” Sylvia agreed. “Do you think the tv people contacted her about him?”

John shook his head in dismay. “You really don’t know your daughter.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Wilf reasoned. “She’d have told us straight away.”

“Then why did she start asking about him? Dad, did she say why?”

Wilf gave his chin a rub as he thought. “Now that you come to mention it, no. To be honest, I was too shocked at the time to ask.”

“Aw, you’re still upset about me,” John noted. “That’s nice to know. But can you not ask Donna about me? I’d like to keep this hush hush between ourselves.” 

Sylvia gulped in some air. “I’ll have to try and ask when she gets home later. Be subtle about it.”

“You’ll be as subtle as brick,” John instantly retorted. “Sorry. Unnecessary outburst then. I’m sure you’ll try to do it nice and calmly.”

“In the meantime,” Wilf hinted, tilting his head towards the phone.

“Suzette!” Sylvia remembered, and hastily dialled her number.

John instinctively moved closer to listen in and react. 

“Hello Suzette. It’s me again,” Sylvia began. “We’ve just seen the clip and yes, that’s us.”

“You never said you took part in something like that,” Suzette accused. “And who was that man with Donna? Is he the one from the wedding?”

“Yes, that was him,” Sylvia cautiously replied, “but we never mention him to Donna.”

That was a pause on the other end of the line. “Why? What did he do that was so awful?”

“He tragically died recently.”

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry,” Suzette burst out with. “Your Donna must be devastated.”

“She is. What with that, her accident, and this business with Shaun, she’s not having a good time of it.”

“Do you…?” Suzette began to query. “No, I can’t imagine it but, was he the reason why her and Shaun broke up? Were they having an affair behind his back?”

An irate John stormed, “How dare you!” His face went red with rage. “I should…”

And with that, he disappeared from the Mott-Noble lounge. 

“…tell you to your face, Suzette, that my Donna would never cheat on someone!” he spat, and only then realised that he was shouting this right into her face. Looking around, he saw a completely different room. “Oh! I’m in your home. Nice wallpaper, by the way. And I like what you’ve done with the windows.” 

A cold, and quite stunned Suzette was answering her friend by saying, “It was just a passing thought. I never said she actually did anything like that with him. Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. Anyway, give my love to her. Poor girl. I wish her all the best.” She then slowly replaced the phone handset, gave the tip of her nose a rub and said out loud to herself, “That was the creepiest phone call I have ever had. I’m sure his ghost must have visited me then. Sorry, John.”

“You’re forgiven,” he automatically replied, and grinned. “I can think myself to other places. I can teleport! Thank you, Suzette,” he said, giving her cheek a kiss, “I can’t wait to tell Donna.” And winked out of there. 

She stood for some moments holding a hand to her cheek, wondering what exactly had just happened, thrilled that it had.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hello!” Donna called out as she entered her home that evening. Strange, she thought. Normally John came bounding up to tell her all his news when she got in from work, but there was no sign of him. Where was he?

“There you are,” her mother greeted her when she opened the door to the kitchenette. 

“Have you seen Joh-?” Donna started to ask and then realised the question could not be answered by anyone else, so she quickly closed her mouth firmly shut.

To her amazement, Sylvia stepped closer to gently ask, “Have I seen who?”

“No one,” Donna instantly denied.

Sylvia gave a patient sigh. After the earlier drama, the opportunity to ask about the Doctor was being handed to her on a plate. “Donna, where you going to ask about John Smith again?”

“No.” But Donna wilted under her mother’s knowing glare. “Yes. Maybe. What about it?”

With a small shrug, Sylvia countered, “You tell me. Why did you suddenly bring him up?”

It must have been the calmest cross examination she’d ever had from her mother, Donna realised. She actually wanted to know the answer. “The thing is, Mum,” she cautiously began, gripping the back of a chair for support, “I have been seeing him lately.”

“You’re going out with him?! But he’s dead!” Sylvia exclaimed without meaning to. She shushed herself, and tried to rephrase her question, aiming for being supportive. “In what way have you seen him?”

“I’m not sure you’re going to believe this but…” Donna desperately looked towards the doorway, hoping John would appear. Alas, he didn’t. “He erm…” She gave a cough. “He fell in front of my car the other night, so I brought him here. It was only when I spoke to Gramps that we discovered he had died. That John is dead.”

Sylvia clutched at her throat. “So what are you trying to tell me exactly?” 

“I’m friends with a ghost,” Donna softly admitted. “I see dead people. Well, just the one, as far as I know.”

“How friendly are you?” Sylvia sharply enquired.

“Mum!” Donna gasped in horror. “It’s not as though I’ve got a phantom lover straight out of ‘Take A Break’. You know the sort of crappy thing they print: ‘I’m pregnant with an ancient ghost’s baby’. No, it’s nothing like that at all. We’re good friends and he says he is going to help me get back with Shaun.”

“He said that?”

“Yes.”

“Well I never,” Sylvia gasped, both alarmed and impressed. “I’ve got a ghost in my house. And what happens once you marry Shaun? What will he do with himself then?”

“I don’t know,” Donna confessed with a tiny shrug. “Go on to the great beyond, I suppose.” 

Obviously this all meant something uniquely hers to her daughter, so Sylvia gently asked, “Are you okay with that?”

“Yes,” Donna lied, trying not to tear up. “Of course I am.”

“You’re allowed to mourn him, you know,” Sylvia commented, and pulled her daughter into a tender hug. 

It made her think of the Doctor in a totally different way. That man may have infuriated her, but he had brought Donna home in one piece. His ‘best friend’ he had called her in front of Wilf on Christmas Day, right before he’d died, and then he’d turned up to carry on looking after her. Sylvia chided herself for even considering questioning his motives. It was clear that the Doctor had loved Donna, and it didn’t matter in what capacity, be it platonic or romantic, because the remnants of that relationship were still inside her daughter. 

She let go of Donna to wipe at her own eyes, and kindly suggested, “Why don’t you go and have a lie down before dinner? I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Donna replied, and placed a grateful kiss on Sylvia’s cheek. No point in pretending she hadn’t cried too, so she openly grabbed a tissue to dab at her tears. “I’ll see you later.”

She gave her eyes one last wipe, stepped into her bedroom, and almost jumped out of her skin when she found John laying on her bed. “Where have you been? I was beginning to think you’d left me.”

Giving her a shy but triumphant smile, he gestured for her to join him. “No, I have no intention of leaving yet. Why would I? I was just feeling really tired, so I came to have a nap. Oh, and I have some good news to tell you.”

“Okay, what news?” she wondered as she adjusted her clothing to lie down with some dignity.

To her surprise, he quickly grasped her around the waist to draw her close, and then gave a her squeezy hug. “I can teleport, jump or whatever name you want to give it when you start in one place and are instantly in another.”

“You can? How did you discover that?”

“It’s thanks to Suzette, of all people,” he babbled, full of this new event. “She phoned your mum and accidentally implied that you and me… Well, it never happened when I was alive. Anyway, I was so angry, I wanted to shout in her face, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in her lounge, doing just that. You really ought to go and see what she’s done with it. Very tasteful.”

“Never mind the Laurence Llewellyn Bowen critique on Suzette’s lounge, this is…”

“Yes, it is, isn’t,” he happily finished for her. “I can go wherever I want just by thinking about it.”

“So how come you’re so tired?”

“It takes it out of you, all this learning what ghosts can do,” he stated. “I might have overdone it.”

“What do you mean?” she suspiciously wondered. 

His expression went sheepish. “I had a go at flitting around London. Seeing some of the old sights. I even found a friend I knew from before, living reasonably close to here.”

“On your own?”

“Of course it was on my own,” he huffed. “You don’t get given the ghostly version of a guide dog when you die.”

“Shame,” she acknowledged. “I’d love to have a dog again.”

“Perhaps we can later,” he suggested. 

Did he really mean what that implied? she wondered. “This friend of yours, were they able to see you?” 

He shook his head in regret. “No. Nobody there was able to detect me. I had hoped her son would have been able to sense my presence.”

“Why? Got a special gift, has he?”

“In many ways, yes,” John enthused. “He’s a boy genius.” He then pondered, “Perhaps it makes a difference that I only met him the one time?”

“Might do,” she agreed. “It’d be worth testing out that theory by finding some other friends to visit.”

“I know some others I can seek out,” he supplied. 

Something in her mind clicked. “And when did you suddenly remember all these long-lost friends?”

“This afternoon,” he answered, and his eyes went wide. “Oh. I didn’t tell you that bit, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

His grin came out in full force then. “Donna, it all came suddenly back. Like ‘ding!’ and it was there.”

“That’s wonderful news!” she trilled. “I’m so pleased for you.”

“It will happen for you too,” he consoled her with a kiss upon her temple, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t actually remember. “Until then, I will do my best to make your life happy.”

“Careful,” she scoffed, “that seriously sounds like a proposal of some sort.”

“I suppose, in a way, it is,” he commented. “If you want to see things that way.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you, Donna Noble.”

Her eyebrow lifted to show her puzzlement. “Is that ‘like’ as in fancying someone, or ‘like’ as in friends in general.”

“Does there have to be a distinction?” he warily pondered. After all, his most recent memories had highlighted his previously repressed feelings, but he had no intention of revealing them. Habit meant that he never admitted anything unless it was necessary, yet experience caused him to realise such a moment was looming up. 

She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I only wondered. It wasn’t said to force you into anything. Honest. And let’s face it, not many men are keen to think of me in a romantic way.”

“Donna…” Having caught her attention, he used an index finger to gently tilt her chin up. “When I was alive, I would never have dared confess my love, but I want you to know that I do care. Very much.”

The softest kiss was pressed onto her lips as he eased forward. And taking this as her cue, she pushed back, to kiss him fully on the mouth. 

For a few seconds, the deliciousness of his lips was all she could think about, yet reality tried to reassert itself, and she pulled away in shock. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Whatever must you think of me? I was supposed to have been getting married and I’ve gone and forced myself onto you.”

“In all fairness, I started it, not you. My opinion hasn’t changed for the worse, but we can chalk to this up to a heady, passionate moment, if you want,” he offered. “We need never talk of our kiss again.”

“Would you…?” She gave a sniff to hold her emotions in place; especially the guilt for wanting their moment. “You are amazing.”

“And so are you,” he stated, smiling broadly. “As I said: anything for you.”

“Good.” She gave another snort. “I’ve got some news for you too. Mum knows you’re here, as our resident ghost.”

“What!” he exclaimed in horror. “How?”

“She asked me. And it is such a relief to be able to say you are here. No offence.”

“None taken,” he tried to assure her. “All I ask is that you don’t tell her absolutely everything we discuss or do.”

“What’s she going to do? Kill you?” she teased.

“I just don’t want her to spoil it for us,” he cautiously answered, “since you never know what she’d say about me.”

The atmosphere at dinner started off a little strange. Sylvia gave her father an anxious glance and then announced, “We’ve solved the mystery of John Smith, Dad.”

He immediately dropped his cutlery in shock. It clattered noisily onto the tabletop. “Have you gone mad?! Stop talking about it in front of…” His finger pointed directly at Donna.

“Why is he a mystery?” Donna asked but Sylvia spoke over her.

“It seems that we have a new resident ghost. That’s why Donna asked about him.”

“Careful, Sylvia.” John got up from his seat to stand behind Donna, at the ready to cover her ears or shout something to stop her hearing anything remotely dangerous.

“Ghost? What are you on about, ghost?” Wilf demanded to know. “Donna, do you know anything about this?” 

“Yes, Gramps,” she reluctantly replied. “You see, the thing is, I brought John home with me Friday night, thinking he was badly injured rather than dead, and now we have a ghost.”

Wilf stared at her, trying to wrap this information around his brain. “Why did you go and do that?”

“Because he needed help, so I stopped the car,” she explained. “Anyone would have done it.”

“And he’s here, in this house?”

“Yes.” She lifted a hand and put it on his where it rested on her shoulder. “He’s standing behind me. Can you see him?”

“No, I can’t see anything there. Just you, patting yourself on the shoulder.”

“Where does he go of a nighttime? Does he watch you?” Sylvia suddenly asked.

Blushing at the reaction she’d gain if she told the absolute truth, she didn’t lie by saying, “I gave him the spare bed.”

“I’d wondered why there was bedding in the other room,” Sylvia noted. “So what does he do with his time?”

“Now that is weird,” John commented. “They’re both taking this awfully well. Almost too well.”

Donna gave his hand another pat in comfort. “We tried having him at work with me, but after he found out all the gossip, he got a little bored.”

Wilf smiled in amusement at that. Yes, the Doctor he knew would find it extremely boring, hanging around an office. 

“He’s spent the last couple of days trying to be helpful around the house, and watching television,” Donna continued.

It caused the smile to drop off Wilf’s face. “That explains that one,” he murmured. “See, Sylv. I’m not going doolally after all.”

She ignored that to ask Donna, “And he watches every tv programme we do?”

“More or less,” John pitched. “Never been a fan of Coronation Street. It’s too addictive.”

“I assume so,” Donna said with a knowing smile. 

“Isn’t there anything they want to ask me?” he pondered. 

“I don’t know.” She turned her head to ask her mother and grandfather, “Is there anything you want to ask? He’s open to any questions.”

“Oh. Uhm. I’m not sure,” Sylvia blustered, desperate to ask him about the video clip shown earlier. “What about you, Dad?”

Giving his nose a rub, Wilf considered, “Is there a message he wants to give me and your mum?”

Donna glanced at John, who was caressing his earlobe in thought. “Well. I suppose they need to know that I am determined to carry on looking after you, to keep you safe.”

“Aww, that’s sweet of you,” she gushed, and then repeated his words. “Are you alright?” she fretted, taking hold of both their hands when Sylvia and Wilf looked very upset. “He means me or you no harm.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Wilf near sobbed. “That’s exactly it. Just what we wanted to hear. You go and enjoy having him as a friend for as long as you can.”

“Mum?”

Sylvia used a tissue to blow her nose. “This is the second time you’ve done this to me today, but I don’t mind,” she wetly replied. “Yes, John is welcome to stay.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** sorry about the update delay - this latest lockdown is doing me no favours. This contains a reference to Torchwood episode "The 456", and the play/films "Blithe Spirit".

[ ](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d5dc8988b9c97e0e58be3e50176dcb1c/7f994794c045ac1f-66/s1280x1920/2500ff3c85aa5f5eb15760ed4e70083d357eb8be.png)

John bit his lip thoughtfully the following morning when he approached Donna sitting on her bed, brushing her hair.

“You look as though you’re up to something,” she noted. “Out with it. What’s on your mind?” 

Sitting down beside her, he tried to pick his words carefully. “Now that I know about my travelling abilities, I was thinking of trying to find a friend somewhere further away.”

“How far? It’s got to be bad, judging by your face.”

“It could be bad for me, since it would mean leaving the country. Well, sort of,” he blustered. “I’m not exactly sure if it will completely tire me out.”

Her hand stopped mid-action as a horrifying thought struck her. “Would it take you too far? As in, you never making it back to me?” 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. When she gasped, he reached out to hold both of her hands. “Whatever happens, I will do everything in my power, no matter how long it takes, to return to you.”

Her voiced waivered as she asked, “Where are you going?”

“Wales.”

“Wales? Oh for goodness sake, you idiot! You made it sound as though you were going to Katmandu or the back of beyond, not less than three hours down the motorway,” she raged. “Do you have to make everything so dramatic?”

Now affronted, he huffed, “I am going under my own steam, I’ll have you know. It might take me weeks to get over the strain. If I ever do at all.”

Making cooing noises to calm him down, she placed her arms around his shoulders and tenderly kissed his cheek. “Sorry, I hope you find your friend and get the answers you want.”

“I’m sorry too,” he replied, accepting the embrace with enthusiasm. “What are you going to do later without me?”

“I had a text from Veena, reminding me we’re celebrating Alice’s birthday tonight.”

“A girls’ night out?” he queried, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Glad I’m missing that.”

“You are such a bloke,” she fondly disparaged. “If you get home before I do, come and find me.”

Standing on the platform at Paddington Station felt rather surreal. He’d tested out his teleporting skills getting around the Underground and he was about to try his next challenge: using a British Rail timetable. Should he travel the whole way on the same train, or should he jump forward to the previous trains? Worth a try, he decided. 

He was still feeling optimistic a few hours later after searching every known place he could think of. But the result was the same: no Captain Jack Harkness. Nothing but devastation where the Hub had once been. Where was Jack?

Then the faint memory of seeing him from a distance in the bar on a space freighter crossed his mind. Jack was no longer on Earth which meant only one thing. No one could help him out of his post-life mess. He would have to find the solution on his own.

Which he would do, later. But for now, he was tired. So tired. It wouldn’t hurt to rest in the debris for a while. So he sat, amongst the bricks and mortar in the bomb crater and allowed himself a good, long sulk. 

Except something was happening. He was being pulled, against his will, to another dimension. It grabbed him quite viciously and dragged him almost kicking and screaming away from Cardiff. Flinging out his hands, he scrambled to grab hold of anything possible as it flew by, but it didn’t work. 

“Donna!” he screeched. “No! Please, no! I’ve got to get back to Donna!”

And then everything went black. 

It felt strange to be out during the evening, walking with friends rather than chatting with John. Don’t be so daft, she told herself when pangs of missing him started to overwhelm her. 

Things after that weren’t _too_ bad. All the old gang were there, smiling at her as though she was fragile and would break at any moment. In some ways she’d got used to this new attitude since her accident. It was extremely similar to the way her mum and Gramps had acted; right up until recently, when she’d told them about John. 

Okay, it was beginning to get on her nerves, but she was determined to cope. Smiling over the rim of her glass, she asked the others, “What’s the plan once we finish this drink? Where are we eating?”

“Oh, you’ll like this,” Alice assured her. “We’re staying here in the Red Lion to eat because I’ve booked us to get a reading.”

Donna looked blankly at the others. Since when had they been massive fans of book readings? “Really? What book and who wrote it?”

“Not that type of reading, silly,” Veena chided. She then leaned closer to confide, “Alice wanted us all to see a psychic.”

She would have question this further, but Alice was nodding enthusiastically at her, so Donna changed her question. “Anyone I might have heard of?”

“Wendy Golightly. Caitlin in my office recommended her,” Alice supplied. “Should be good.”

“Yeah,” Donna tried to agree. Did she want to know her future? Or was it bad enough just living it? “Can’t wait.”

Keeping a broad grin on your face can take it out of you, but Donna managed it, right up until they were all seated in front of Wendy Golightly. All her friends they were sitting there to have a piece of fun, that the woman was a charlatan, and that they would be told anything to please them. Donna, however, had a bad feeling about it. 

Now some might say she was merely a suspicious woman, but it was all too much of a coincidence for her liking. When you think about it, having a dead friend turn up to haunt you and then only days afterwards you are being sat down in front of a psychic, are not your normal, everyday happenings. Not by a long chalk. 

If she didn’t know any better, she would have said it had been especially arranged by someone. Who that ‘someone’ could be was anybody’s guess. But it was fishy, that much was true. 

The woman, Wendy Golightly, was fairly ordinary looking. Not flamboyant or bohemian in the slightest, there was no chance you’d mistake her for Madame Arcati. More like Mavis who works down the library…

From behind her owlish glasses, Wendy studied them in turn as she tried to provide a poignant message. But when she got to Donna, she stopped and became rather flustered. “There’s an aura, an energy around you,” she cautiously began. “It’s hard to see properly as it keeps moving about,” Wendy continued, “as though it’s-”

At this point, a blur swept across the room towards Wendy, to solidify into the form of John once it reached her. He staggered for a second, trying to get his bearings, and then he grinned broadly once he spotted her. “Hello Donna! Fancy seeing you here. No Shaun with you? Shame. I was hoping they’d try to fix that. Where’s ‘here’, by the way?”

Donna opened her mouth to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. In front of them, Wendy was juddering in her seat as though in the grip of a seizure. “Call for an ambulance,” Donna ordered. “Make sure you tell them we’re in a room above the Red Lion.”

“Ah, thanks,” John acknowledged the information, but Veena was looking at her as though she’d gone mad.

“Why are you acting like Lord Muck and saying it like that?” Veena insisted on knowing. Then her mindset grew more suspicious. “Do you think we’re being bugged? Is there a hidden microphone in here? Are we going to end up on telly? ”

“No, you’re alright. This isn’t a set up,” Donna assured her as her first aid training from scuba diving kicked in, and she leapt forward to help lie Wendy safely down on the floor. “I was just… Never mind.” She shook her head, trying partly to rid herself of the rising pain there, but her astonishment grew when Wendy suddenly stood up as John blurred out of existence again.

“Wendy? Are you okay?” Alice wondered from next to her.

A distinctly un-Wendy type voice came out of her. “I know you. You’re Alice,” a deep tone greeted her. “That’s weird. Different voice. Well, what would you expect? A whole new experience.”

“Who are you?” Alice asked in shock.

Wendy turned their head and beamed triumphantly at Donna. “I’m John. How did she do that?” Then Wendy bent forward, clutching at their head. “Ow. That hurts. I need to get out of here. See you later.” And then Wendy dropped like a stone onto the seat below them. 

“I’ll get her some water,” Donna announced, and raced out of the room, trying to think through the situation as she made for the kitchen below. “John,” she whispered a couple of times as she climbed back up the stairs, but there was no sign of him. 

When she re-entered the private room, Wendy was rather pale but also quietly jubilant. After giving her thanks on receiving the glass of water, she told Donna, “I was possessed by a spirit. First time that has ever happened for a client. He must have a very special connection to you.”

“I’m beginning to think that myself,” Donna muttered to herself. “Who me?” she said more loudly. “Nah. I’m nothing special. It was just a fluke.”

Yet she spent the rest of the evening waving off questions from her friends about the mysterious visitation.

As she had expected, John was laying prone on her bed when she got home. He looked utterly exhausted, but she had to know. “What was all that about earlier?”

He managed to lift his head to say, “No idea. One moment I was sitting on the remains of a brick wall, and the next I was standing in front of you all, with the equivalent of a human vacuum.”

“So it wasn’t your doing?”

“No. I assure you it wasn’t me.”

“Hmm.” She regarded him and wondered, “Perhaps we ought to visit Wendy Golightly again and get her to help you.”

He rolled over and whined, “Do I have to?”

“If it helps, yeah.”

“Do you know what would help me right now?” he pondered. “A cuddle. A Donna Noble special.”

How could she refuse such a request? “Shift over,” she instructed, and placed herself on the bed next to him; allowing him the chance to cuddle her close. “Did you get to see your friend in Wales alright?”

“No,” he weakly admitted. “He wasn’t there. There’d been a terrorist bomb attack that had demolished the building, so I don’t know where he is.”

“Sorry about your friend. I don’t remember there being an attack in Wales,” she remarked.

“Well. It’s fairly typical, Donna,” he noted, “you do have this tendency of missing stuff like that.”

“I do,” she agreed. “It’s as if I’m not allowed to. Anyway, did you find out anything? Have you any idea why you haven’t…” She tip-toed her fingers along the top of the bed covers. “…gone to the light yet?”

His eyes followed the course of her fingertips. “Yes, yes I have,” he replied, visibly biting down on the urge to kiss them. “I was meant to be with you.”

“I guessed that bit, Sherlock,” she grouched. “Surely you’ve gained some knowledge while doing your Quantum Leap thing, jumping about to visit your friends.”

A sheepishly expression crossed his face. “It’s like this,” he cautiously began. “I actually know who I was, what I did in life, and what links us. You and me.”

“And?” she encouraged, waiting for the proverbial axe to drop.

After a few moments, he blurted out, “We were married.” When her eyebrows shot into her hairline, he tacked on, “Well, sort of. As good as. Definitely. Bonded to one another. We were destined to be together. They all said so.”

“You’re telling me we were married,” she sought to clarify, mouth still agape. “To each other. Married, and no one told me!”

“To be fair, your family never knew, since you didn’t tell them.” He then gulped down a sob. “And I didn’t say anything when I had the chance to talk to them on my own. Sort of didn’t matter at the time. There were other more important things to worry about.”

“Oh yeah?” she scorned. “What sort of ‘more important things’ could possibly have stopped you?”

“The erm…the…,” he stammered under her intense glare, “the accident. I took you home after the accident that injured your head and wiped your memory.”

Still annoyed, she spat, “The accident that gets blamed for absolutely everything, yet _nobody_ will tell me what actually happened. _That_ accident!”

“It’s best that they don’t,” he assured her. “The trauma was too much to bear, for us all.”

“And yet _you_ get to remember it,” she pointed out. “That hardly seems fair.”

“Oh Donna,” he crooned, and wrapped her up in a hug, placing a kiss on her temple. “There’s nothing I would like more than for you to be able to remember every single thing; but you can’t, and we have to accept that. The worst part is that it stopped us being able to be together.”

“At least I have you now, for a while,” she muttered into his shoulder. “Will you promise me something? When your time’s up and you must go to the afterlife, will you say goodbye to me properly?”

“I promise,” he easily vowed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** epidemic/pandemic  
>  **A/N:** this chapter contains a section that was first posted a year ago as part of **hc_bingo** round 10.

Shaun slammed his fridge with an angry ‘thunk’. No chance of a normal coffee then. The absence of any milk meant he would have to actually go out and face the world. Out where happy couples meandered about, pushing their lives into sad lonely people’s face. How dare they. 

Buying the milk was also one of the many things Donna used to do instead of him, so the act of venturing out to the supermarket had a hidden depth to it. 

With a sigh, he had to admit to himself that life had been a lot easier when she had organised it all for him. It had been one of her charms. And he found himself missing that easy distant state of being where they’d been almost living together, and about to get married. It had been almost too cosy, now that he thought about it. Perhaps that was why his feelings had altered?

Things had changed for Shaun as soon as Donna had been found slumped in one of the alleyways behind her mum’s house; the one that led to the local garages. He had raced through the open back gate in the garden to find her after Sylvia and him had come ‘round after their funny turn, frightened by Donna’s disappearance.

Moments later he’d been horrified to find several bodies lying near Donna on the hard cold ground. ‘Please let her be okay,’ he had silently begged any deity that would listen; and had thought his luck was in when his heart-felt wish was granted. She was alive. 

Yet something wasn’t quite right. 

Theirs had never been a particularly touchy-feely relationship. Never needed to be. Its subdued nature suited the pair of them as they sought to live a life beyond their parents. But Donna had definitely cooled towards him, and he hadn’t felt right about their engagement since touching her freezing, almost lifeless body on Christmas Day. Whatever it was, it continued to push him further away, and that broke his heart. 

Years of engulfing loneliness beckoned if he didn’t get this right. He was very aware of that. Had been even when he’d broke things up between them for his own sanity. But it was the little things that made him miss her. The selfish, probably sexist, things that made him regret breaking them up. It almost made him reach out and text her, asking to meet, but he worried too much that she would tell him to bugger off if he did that. 

An angry Donna was not someone you wanted to cross.

Except, he was now willing to risk it, if he could reassure himself that she was alright. That wouldn’t be too bad a thing, would it? No, he told himself. If nothing else, he’d end up with a fresh pint of milk to put on his cornflakes in the morning. It was a win-win situation. 

Just as he put his coat on, a strange chill ran through his body, as though he was starting to sicken with something. In response, he mentally added some cough remedies to his shopping list. After, he couldn’t afford to miss work for any great length of time.

Donna was in the middle of her normal Monday night shop, topping up on anything forgotten or used over the weekend. John was with her, trying to do his best to be useful, but it wasn’t his fault certain items kept catching his attention as they walked through the aisles. It was all still rather novel, as experiences go. 

She’d eventually found him closely examining the differences between types of European salami when her phone rang. “Hello Mum. What did I need to get?”

“Paracetamol,” Sylvia replied. “Your grandfather isn’t well. I think someone at the wedding has given him the flu. It might be that swine flu that’s still going around.”

“Rightio. I’ll go to the pharmacy and pick up as much as I can to help him.”

“Thanks for doing this.”

“No problem,” Donna trilled “See you later. Bye!”

Standing from his bent position over the fridge display, John asked, “Anything the matter?”

“Gramps isn’t well. Mum thinks he’s got the flu. Perhaps that swine flu.”

“Oh no,” he sympathised. “We don’t want anything bad happening to him.”

“We certainly don’t,” she agreed. “After we’ve been down to the pharmacy bit, I think we’ll get him a treat or too.”

“Cake,” he enthused. “Can I help choose some?”

“Come on,” she fondly encouraged him to move. “Play your cards right and you’ll get to eat some too, if we can hide it away from Mum.”

“Donna,” John cautiously whispered into her ear some minutes later, “I don’t want to worry you, but some man is watching you. Has been since we stood here. No, don’t turn and look yet. He’s at the till end of the aisle.”

She nodded at John and then slowly turned to glance that way. “Shaun,” she murmured. 

The man took a couple of steps nearer. “Hello. How are you?”

“Shaun? That’s Shaun?” John wondered, circling the man in question. “He’s not what I expected him to be.” 

“I’m fine,” she answered her ex-fiancé, “but you don’t look too well.”

Shaun huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I’m feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Careful, you might get that swine flu going around,” she cautioned. “Gramps might have it.”

“Is that why you’re buying all that stuff?” Shaun pondered. 

“No, she’s subsidising the local hospital,” John pithily remarked. 

How could she tell John off without frightening Shaun? The man looked awful. Either he was really ill or petrified of her; she couldn’t quite decide in that moment. “Overdoing things, as usual,” she commented. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thanks.

“Stop being so nice to him,” John ordered. “He dumped you, remember!” When she gave him a puzzled frown, he realised how he must sound. “Oops! Sorry. Don’t listen to me. You’ve got a wedding to salvage. Yes, well, erm… He certainly needs looking after, that much is clear.”

“When you feel better,” she started to say, to halt Shaun’s retreat, “perhaps we can get the chance to talk things through. Cross all the ‘t’s and dot the ‘i’s. That sort of thing.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Shaun answered, feeling pleased despite his dour outward appearance. “I’ll be in touch. Very soon. Bye. See you later.”

She waited until Shaun was out of clear sight before hissing at John, “What’s got into you? I thought you wanted the engagement to be back on.”

“I do,” he defended himself. “It’s just, now that I’ve seen him with my own eyes, I can’t help wondering if he’s good enough for you.”

“Don’t start all that again,” she huffed and stalked away. 

“No, listen,” he begged, running after her. “I know I shouldn’t be all possessive since I’m…”

“…a ghost,” she finished for him. 

He visibly winced. “And that too. I can’t help that I care so much, but I promised that I’ll help get you back together, so I’ll shut up if you prove why he deserves you.”

“Would a large gooey chocolate cake help to persuade you?” she cheekily offered. 

Grinning broadly, he boasted, “You have all the best arguments. It’s best that we buy a couple, just in case.”

Buying extra soon became a wise idea indeed. For within days, both Wilf and his daughter were laid low with the latest strain of flu, leaving Donna to cope with their care almost solely on her own. John tried to help but in reality, could only offer moral support in front of them, no matter how many times he made tea. 

The rasping breath of Sylvia Noble filled the small room she slept in. Donna came out and closed the bedroom door behind her before slumping against the door frame.

John watched her with deep concern. She’d been running herself ragged since her mother and grandfather had become ill with the same symptoms most of London seemed to have suffered with in the last week. “Are you okay?” he asked, offering a hug to comfort her.

However, she waved him off. “I’m so tired. Everything feels wrong.” 

He frowned and dropped his arms. “What do you mean everything?”

“Well,” she began, “since you appeared, my life has gone from bad to worse.” 

“What! How can you say that? You can’t mean it,” he reasoned in hurt tones.

“Except I think I do,” she insisted.

“Donna, don’t you like me being here?” he gently voiced his nagging doubt.

“No, it isn’t that,” she quickly answered. “It’s just… why are you really here? Still here, I mean. I’ve never properly understood it. Did you deliberately bring an epidemic with you? Are you like some zombie invasion?”

“Don’t be daft. Of course not.” 

“Why should I believe you?” she argued. “I don’t even know how you exactly died let alone why.”

His face went grim. No, he couldn’t tell her. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s complicated,” she mimicked him in a silly voice. “Every single thing about you is complicated,” she spat. “Do you know why you are here with me instead of joining the celestial host? I bet you don’t.”

Appalled by her outburst, he supplied, “I bet I do. It’s quite obvious.” 

“Is it something that’d be obvious to us mere mortals or does it only make sense to the undead?”

Taking in a breath he didn’t really need, he collected himself to say, “I’m here because we were meant to be together.” 

“Oh, don’t give me that old story!” she protested. “I have heard it loads of times now and it still doesn’t convince me.” 

“Nevertheless, it’s true,” he maintained. “I’m not here to kill off every living person on this planet but for more personal reasons. Specifically, to remain by your side for as long as I am able.”

Now in a huff, she pushed herself away from the door and stomped into her own bedroom, with him trailing behind. “Pft! You must think I’m a blithering idiot.”

Only the truth would console her, he realised, and it was time to provide it. “No, I think you are brilliant, beautiful, adorable and most of all…”

“What,” she wondered. 

“You’re my wife,” he whispered. “Well, as good as.”

“What does that mean: as good as?” she countered. “Good grief. We aren’t married, not engaged, nor did we ever go out together. Shaun doing a bunk doesn’t change that. I only met you for the first time a few months ago.” 

“That isn’t true,” he quietly insisted. “I remember what we were, what we did, how we really met; everything.”

Unable to believe this good news, she blazed, “If this is your idea of a joke, it isn’t very funny.” 

“Far from it,” he agreed. “Being without you was the most painful time in my life.” 

“Good job you’re dead now,” she couldn’t resist joking. 

“The pain lives on. In my soul.”

How could she not believe the pained sincerity in his eyes? It was etched into every line on his face. Every whisper of her anger faded away to leave compassion in its wake. “Then whoever let you come back here and go through it again is cruel. To both of us.”

All he could do for a second was nod his head in agreement. 

Sighing deeply, she opened her arms to embrace him, and he willingly took the hint. “What do I do now?” she softly asked.

“Meet Shaun,” he advised. “It’s the one thing you should do.”

“But I might lose you,” she claimed, holding him tighter. “I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to go either, but we both know I’ll have to soon. I can feel something is about change,” he reasoned, “and you have to marry Shaun.”

She gave him a faint nod against his neck. “Okay. I’ll phone him in a minute. Just let me enjoy this with you for a little bit longer.”

As he’d said, he didn’t want to go, so they clung together for several more minutes. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I'd apologise for the ending, but Doctor Who episodes can be even nuttier than this!

It had been no great decision at all for Shaun. One phone call from Donna and the deed was done; they would talk things through again. He could have tried to play it cool, but he missed her company and regretted the breakup, so of course he had agreed to meet up with her before their wedding was completely cancelled. He owed it to her and himself to give things a second chance.

It pained him to see her look so pensive as she approached him at their assigned meeting spot, on the corner of Mallard Street. The nervous bite of a lip, a frantic glance sideways as though someone would rush out from one of the nearby houses to rescue her from the encounter. His heart ached for her plight because it would be, ultimately, her decision.

What he didn’t know was that part of her anxiety was due to John fading gradually away from view. She could still see him, but where he had been solid before, since the supermarket encounter with Shaun, John had become transparent. ‘Would he totally disappear at any moment?’ she fretted.

As it was, she was relying on John’s steady moral support during her attempt to get back with Shaun and keep the wedding date they’d booked. She hated to admit it, but she needed him to stick around. 

Standing his ground in some weird macho way, Shaun quietly waited until she was near enough to hear him greet her. “Hello Donna. How are you?”

“Hello,” she automatically replied as she got close. “I’m alright. How are you?”

“Not bad.” He grimaced, denoting his true feelings. 

Her face softened in concern. “You still don’t look so great, to be honest.” She then reached out and placed a hand directly over the centre of his chest, sensing the erratic heartbeat below her palm. “Don’t feel so good either.”

Trying to remain strong, he replied, “I’m fine.” The pain in his chest swelled up, tightening round him as he gasped for breath. “Donna, I don’t feel...,” he began to admit. But the pain was pressing him down onto his knees. “Help,” he managed to whisper as the blood drained from his face. 

“Just… hang on,” she begged with an outstretched hand, and then fumbled to dial 999 on her mobile phone. “Ambulance. I need an ambulance,” she told the woman that answered. “My fiancé has collapsed in the middle of the street. We’re in Mallard Street, Chiswick; near the dead end.” 

She listened carefully to the dispatch advisor now on the other end of the line, calming her while the ambulance sped towards them. She assured them Shaun was still breathing, and she’d put him in the recovery position, as directed. 

A gurgle from Shaun had her attention snapped back to his face. He looked close to death and the ambulance might still be a while.

“Shaun? Shaun!” she called out. Then she appealed to her friend standing invisibly by her side, “He needs help. Can you help him, John?”

He shook his head, trying to convey that he couldn’t do much more to help. “I think he’s had a heart attack.”

“Can’t you save him? Do that body possession thing again….? I don’t know. Anything!” she begged frantically.

Knowing he couldn’t refuse her, he made up his mind, and he determinedly said, “Stand back, Donna. This might be the last chance I have to see you, but Shaun will not leave you like I have to. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” she gasped as she watched John slam himself into Shaun’s prone body. 

There seemed to be a struggle of some sort, his arms and legs jerked about for a few seconds, and Shaun stilled before cautiously opening his eyes.

“Shaun,” Donna whispered in relief. “You’re back. Are you alright? Does anywhere hurt?”

Shaun blinked up her, adjusting his vision, and a slow smile of recognition filled his face. “Hello Donna.” He immediately grimaced. “Ooh, that’s weird. I sound different again. Did it work?” Then he fainted away. 

The sound of the ambulance broke through the impending silence, and help arrived in the form of two genial paramedics who quickly assessed Shaun’s condition. Within minutes, he was rigged up to an oxygen tank, strapped to the internal bed, and whisked off to the nearest hospital, with Donna by his side. 

Throughout the journey, she had held his hand and whispered consoling words to help ease his unconscious pain. It had been touch and go at one point, they’d told her later, but he was fighting hard to stay alive despite the odds being low.

Despite her stomach growling and her eyes needing to look at something other than the hospital room Shaun been placed, Donna stayed by his side, holding his hand or keeping contact in some other form whilst avoiding all the monitoring stickers they’d placed on his upper torso. The plastic chair beneath her bottom had to be the most uncomfortable seat she had ever spent hours sitting on, but she was determined to see her vigil through. With loving sweeps, she tenderly stroked Shaun’s hair.

Who was really in there, she wondered, making the machines ping in rhythm? Whoever it was, she needed her friend. 

“John, come back to me,” she begged. 

“What did you want me for?” he suddenly asked from behind her.

She whirled her head around to gaze at him. “You’re still dead!” she spluttered. 

“I’m afraid so,” he grimly confirmed, stepping closer to the hospital bed. “It’s Shaun in there fighting to stay alive.”

Her mouth gaped open for a second. “I don’t understand. Why isn’t it you?”

“Because it isn’t my place to steal his life, Donna. I have no right to do that. He is destined to marry you.”

“You’ve said that before,” she stated, flabbergasted by this new turn of events. “The whole destiny thing. But how do you know? What makes you so sure I will marry him?”

Brokenly, John admitted, “Because I was there, Donna. I saw you come out of the church with him, smiling, almost dizzy with happiness.”

She slowly blinked. “How?” she quietly asked.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now if I admit I can travel in time. _Could_ travel in time,” he corrected himself, “when I was me.”

“But,” she reasoned, “this means you could go back and stop it happening.”

“I can’t. It was my prophecy. A new song to be sung,” he sadly explained. 

“No, hang on,” she begged, thinking desperately, “This might be like that film. The Keanu Reeves one.”

“Speed,” he suggested. “How?”

“No, not that one, you div!” she chided. “We’ve got no bomb, or a bus for that matter. Although having Sharon Bullock around would be helpful. No, I’m talking about the house by the lake one.”

“The Lake House.” Guessing what she might suggest, he insisted, “It wouldn’t work.”

“How do you know it won’t?” she demanded. “In the film time was rewritten; made it seem possible. We exist in two different timelines, one where I wasn’t aware of your death, but at one point in the future we can properly meet and change how it ends. You yourself said we were meant to be together. Perhaps this is how we can be.”

“You’d die,” he wailed.

“If that’s what it takes to be with you forever, then I will,” she vowed. “I only persisted with Shaun because you talked me into it.” 

“What about what Shaun wants?”

“I think he’s realised that we were making do with each other. Yes, I could get him to marry me. I know I can eventually persuade him, and we’d be happy together, in a way. But I don’t think I should.”

“Why?” he gasped as all his fears about destroying the timelines reared up.

Donna’s gaze somehow turned softer but assertive. “Because you showed me something better. This half-life of mine isn’t worth living without you.”

“I won’t let you do that,” he maintained, railing against every jubilant reaction his soul could throw at him.

Now determined, she stood up straight. “Try stopping me, buster! I have got to do this, or I’ll never forgive myself. You were at the church right after the ceremony?”

He faintly nodded. “As I said, I arrived when you emerged from the church.”

“Then I have plans to arrange.” She took hold of his hand, and gently asked, “How much longer have you got?”

“Until Shaun wakes up. Perhaps an hour or so.”

Holding back her tears, she suggested, “Then let’s go look at the stars, one last time together.” 

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS to meet a bright spring day full of promising blooms. But his attention was on the church doors that burst open to reveal Donna wearing another wedding dress. This one was different to the one his Donna had worn… not that he was allowed to refer to her as his Donna. She would have had a pink fit if he had.

All pain was ignored as he concentrated on her smiling face. She waved her hand about to show off a ring, her wedding band, to all and sundry. And then she did the strangest thing. Instead of turning to her bridegroom (and in all honesty, he hadn’t even taken much notice of the man in question) she turned to look at him, standing by the lychgate.

No! She couldn’t do that. Mustn’t walk towards him; or open her mouth to speak. It should not, could not happen! But suddenly she was stood in front of him, gazing with compassion and unconditional love once more. She was almost glowing with it. 

But when she called him ‘Doctor’ he almost collapsed, unable to conceal the toil on his body. “Doctor!” she cried, grabbing hold of his arm to keep him standing. “Come on, John. Let’s get you inside.”

“Inside where?” he managed to ask as the pain swelled up, threatening to engulf his body.

“The TARDIS, you prawn,” she said; and in that moment he wasn’t sure if this was a wild hallucination or a dream.

“Not allowed,” he murmured.

“Of course it is,” she brashly maintained. “Me and the Old Girl are friends. She’ll let me look after you.”

“How do you remember me?” 

“That’s all down to you, thanks. You don’t know it yet, but you helped stop the Metacrisis burning me up. Well, not you exactly, but you’ll soon work it out.”

“About that…,” he started to say as they stumbled up the ramp to the main console, with her holding him up. “Get back. It’s started,” he quietly voiced.

“Ah. You’re not going to like this bit,” she noted. “Take no notice of me. Just let it go.”

“Donna,” he gasped, “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she assured him. “See you on the other side.”

Other side? His mind suddenly cleared as the blaze took over him. “NO!”

It was too late. She was already reaching for him as his body burned with the regeneration fires.

The whole room lit up. Explosions took out most of the décor and a new body emerged. The new incarnation of the Doctor. A younger man with ancient eyes shrieked into his existence.

He reached up to touch his hair and exclaimed, “I’m a girl!” And realised that he wasn’t. This new body merely had floppier hair. Then the Eleventh Doctor took in the reforming TARDIS. Everything would be changed. “Look Donna, I…” 

There was nobody there with him. He had been all on his own when he regenerated. Silly him thinking he’d had company. This was a new life to delight in. A whole new chance. 

“Geronimo!”

~~0~~

In a different dimension, and another timeline, the late Tenth Doctor and Donna Noble whirled in space together, clutching the handrail as the TARDIS bucked and yawed.

Eventually the spinning stopped enough for them to catch their breath. “Where are we?” Donna asked.

“No idea,” he admitted with glee. “Let’s find out.”

Throwing open the TARDIS revealed that they were in a churchyard. A very familiar scene met them.

“No,” she gasped in awe. “Is this where I think it is?”

“Seems like it,” he reasoned. “Do you remember that whole destiny business? Seems like we were right.”

“Yeah. But I mean… you don’t expect it to actually happen.”

“That’s the power of a metacrisis.” He reached down to lift up her hand to lead the way out, and took a second or two to look. “That’s my ring. The biodamper I gave you,” he said in surprise.

“What else would I wear? This meant too much to me to wear any other ring,” she explained.

“Oh, Donna Noble. I love you,” he declared.

“Thank gawd for that, because I love you too, John Smith, or whatever name you are going to use from now on.”

“Thank you, Old Girl,” he said to the TARDIS now stood behind them, and leaned down to kiss his new-ish wife. Well. She already knew his name, so it was more like a ‘vows renewal’ sort of thing than anything else. 

Now satisfied that her work was done, and this version of her Thief was safe, the TARDIS slowly faded away to leave them with their joint destiny. 

“There they are!” called out Wilf. “We thought you’d both done a runner,” he aimed at them. “Come on, the photographer is waiting to take your wedding snaps.”

“Coming Gramps,” Donna happily answered, grasping John’s arm. “Have we really reset time?” she whispered to him.

“Seems like it,” he agreed. “Time can be rewritten,” he quoted, and pulled her into a tight hug. “A big ol’ new alternate universe created, just for you. We’ve been given a forever.”

“With a mortgage,” she teased, knowing he’d hate the thought.

“Ah, maybe not,” he replied, reaching into his top pocket. “I have here the present I gained with some help from your dad.”

“That’s a lottery ticket,” she noted, clearly unimpressed. “Why would my dad give me an old lottery ticket?”

“This isn’t just any ticket,” he explained, waving it high. “Your dad gave me the money to buy this week’s ticket, bought knowing the result.”

“That’s cheating!” she gasped. “Merely a cheap trick.”

“It’s also a triple rollover,” he enticed her, still waving the ticket. “Nobody else was going to win it.”

“In that case…” She snatched the ticket and put it away inside her cleavage. “You can retrieve it later. Looks like we’ve got some celebrating to do.”

“Allons-y!” he cried.

~~o0o~~


End file.
